


The Werewolf of Baskerville

by MissErikaCourt



Series: Superlocked [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissErikaCourt/pseuds/MissErikaCourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been working cases together for two years since Sherlock's return to London, but he isn't satisfied with what he's doing anymore. Molly stayed in America, and Sherlock can't find a reason to go on doing what he did before. He takes a case due to sheer boredom and ends up biting off a bit more than he can chew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Nothing?” Sherlock asked, sitting in his chair staring across the room at John who was tapping away idly on the keyboard of his laptop.

“Military coup in Uganda.” He answered, knowing that it wouldn't satisfy his friend's thirst. Ever since he'd returned from America two years ago, Sherlock had been different. He barely took any cases at all, and the ones he did take were easily solved, leaving him back in the flat high on whatever drug he had taken a liking to that week.

“Hmm.” Sherlock hummed, annoyed, pressing his long fingers to his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. “John, I need some. Get me some.”

“Absolutely not.” John replied, folding his paper back and throwing it down on the end table that sat next to his chair. He had gotten far too tired of Sherlock's abusive behavior since Molly Hooper had decided to stay in America. He'd tried several times to get to the bottom of the story, to no avail. When asked, Sherlock would only say that a case took him to America and Molly begged to come along, then decided that she liked it there and stayed. John knew that wasn't the real story, but Sherlock wasn't budging.

“Get me some.” Sherlock demanded again, glaring at his friend. Sherlock's substance abuse had really skyrocketed since his return. He'd turned himself into a shell of what he used to be. He'd lost weight, which made him look as if he were a walking skeleton, and his eyes had sunken into his face, the dark circles underneath them accentuating how bloodshot they regularly were. Even their normal bright blue-green had faded into a sort of gray color.

“No.” John said sternly. “Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you've already paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you anything.”

“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?” Sherlock asked, an irritated tone to his voice. John shifted his eyes around the room and cleared his throat, reminding Sherlock that _he_ was the one responsible.

“Right.” Sherlock said before pushing himself up from his chair and dutifully tearing through the whole sitting room in search of his drug of choice. Lately, that drug had been heroin.

“Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now.” John said, exasperated. Sherlock had successfully gone two weeks without using drugs, only smoking the occasional cigarette, and John thought he was finally starting to overcome his addiction. Apparently, for some reason, he'd decided that now would be the perfect time to relapse.

“Tell me where it is. Please. Tell me.” Sherlock begged, stopping his frantic search and placing his hands on his hips, still looking around the room in hopes of deducing where John might have hidden the product. Although they both knew that, if John were to find any drugs in the flat, he would have gotten rid of them immediately.

“I won't, Sherlock. I've told you, that stuff is poison. You're hurting yourself. Not only that, but you're hurting the people that care about you.” John tried to explain.

“What people?” Sherlock asked, genuinely confused. He rolled his eyes and began trying to figure out ways to get to the bottom of the mystery again. “I'll tell you next week's lottery numbers.”

“Really?” John asked sarcastically.

“It was worth a try.”

“You don't need drugs, Sherlock. Just occupy yourself some other way.”

“Oh John, I envy you so much.” Sherlock said with an exasperated smile.

“Envy me?”

“Your mind, its so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control! A rocket tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad.” Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa that sat against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I need a case!”

“You've just solved one! Apparently by harpooning a dead pig.” John argued, remembering the scene he'd witnessed this morning as Sherlock came in the door, covered from head to toe in blood.

“That was this morning! When's the next one?”

“Nothing on the website, then?”

“Dear, Mr. Holmes,” Sherlock began to rattle off, from memory, one of the several emails on his website that he'd deemed unfit to investigate. “I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?”

“Bluebell?” John asked, raising his eyebrows.

“It's a rabbit, John!”

“Oh.”

“Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous! 'Like a fairy', according to little Kristy. Then, the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of forced entry.” Sherlock had been speaking of the case as if it were completely frivolous up to that point, but had an apparent change of heart after considering it again. “What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade, tell him there's an escaped rabbit.”

“Are you serious?” John asked, bewilderment in his voice.

“It's this, or Cluedo.” Sherlock replied with a smile.

“Uh, no.” John said, getting out of his chair and walking to the kitchen. “We are _never_ playing that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Sherlock, it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it.” John said, irritated at the memory of the last game they'd played together.

“It was the only possible solution. Suicide, John, it has to be suicide sometimes.” Sherlock argued.

“It's not in the rules.”

“Then the rules are wrong!” Sherlock said enthusiastically. The argument was really about to take off when the doorbell sounded downstairs. John and Sherlock both froze in their tracks.

“Single ring.” John said, looking at Sherlock who hadn't moved from his spot on the sofa.

“Maximum pressure, just under half a second.” Sherlock added, staring back at John. Then, they said the final word of their joint deduction together. “Client.”

 

oOo

 

“I was only a kid. It-it was on the moor.” A rather scraggly looking blond man with over night stubble said with a stutter as he sat in a chair in front of Sherlock and John. “It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father.”

“What did you see?” Sherlock asked from his chair, hands steepled under his chin.

“Well...I don't think you would believe me if I told you.” The man, whose name was Henry, answered, looking down at his lap, toying with a napkin he'd brought in with him.

“In your own time.” John said in a kind tone.

“But quite quickly.” Sherlock added.

“Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes? It's an amazing place, like nowhere else. It's sort of...bleak, but beautiful.”

“Mm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock said flippantly, trying to get to the point of the conversation.

“We used to go for walks, me and my Dad, after Mum died. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor.”

“Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your father was brutally murdered. Where did that happen?” Sherlock asked, quite insensitively, growing more bored with every passing second. John shot a glance at him that he promptly ignored and Henry continued.

“There's a place, it's...it's sort of a local landmark called Dewer's Hollow. It's an ancient name for the devil.” He said, which seemed to somehow pique Sherlock's interest.

“Did you see the devil that night, Henry?” John asked, which earned a look from Sherlock. He couldn't help but think back to his time in America with the Winchesters, back to Molly and everything that had happened. This case was getting more interesting with every word Henry said.

“Yes.” Henry whispered, breathing more heavily at the memory. “It was huge, with coal black fur and glowing red eyes. It got him, tore at him...tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My Dad's body was never found.”

“Hm,” John hummed, looking across at Sherlock. “Red eyes, coal black fur, enormous. Maybe a dog, or a wolf.”

“Or a genetic experiment.” Sherlock said, trying to suppress a bit of a smile.

“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked, offended.

“Why, are you joking?” Sherlock replied.

“My Dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at _him_. Look what came of it.” Henry said, a stern tone to his voice.

“Henry, whatever _did_ happen was twenty years ago. Why come to us now, after all this time?” John asked, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees.

“It doesn't matter, I'm not sure you can help me anyway, since you find it all so funny.” Henry said, glaring daggers at Sherlock as he spoke. He stood up and made for the door before Sherlock spoke again.

“Because of what happened last night.” He said, causing Henry to freeze in his tracks.

“What happened last night?” John asked, knowing that Sherlock was about to rattle off a chain of deductions.

“How...how do you know?” Henry asked, turning back around to face Sherlock, who was wearing a smug smile.

“I didn't _know_ , I noticed.” He said, then when no one seemed to understand, he started in on his chain of deductions. “You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you, although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Henry, and do _please_ smoke. I'd be delighted.”

“How on Earth did you notice all that?” Henry asked, flabbergasted as he took his seat.

“It's not important.” John said, trying to keep Sherlock from showing off. However, it didn't work.

“Punched out holes where your ticket's been checked...” He started, pointing to a ticket stub sticking out of Henry's pocket, but John interrupted.

“Not now, Sherlock...”

“Oh, please. I've been cooped up in here for ages.”

“You're just showing off.”

“Of course. I _am_ a show off. That's what we do.” Sherlock said with a smile, then turned his attention back toward Henry. “The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it, and round your lips, and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.” He said, gesturing to the napkin Henry had been holding.

“How did you know it was disappointing? Henry asked with a smile, amazed at what he had just witnessed.

“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive – wrote her number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later—after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that interested after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers...your shaking fingers. I know the signs.” Sherlock said, his gaze growing more intense. “No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six am. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?”

“No.” Henry answered in awe. Sherlock smiled smugly and John rolled his eyes. “You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick...”

“It's my job.” Sherlock said, leaning forward. “Now shut up and smoke.”

“Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?” John asked, starting in on getting the details of the case again.

“Yes.” Henry said, taking his first drag on the cigarette and then exhaling. Sherlock jumped to his feet and breathed deeply at the smoke that had come from him.

“That must be uh...quite a trauma.” John said, trying to ignore what Sherlock was doing, even though Henry looked more than a bit concerned about it. “Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story?

“That's what Doctor Mortimer says.” Henry said, taking another drag and staring at Sherlock as he repeated his strange behavior.

“Who?” John asked, trying not to give Sherlock a good smack to make him stop whatever it was he was doing.

“His therapist.” Sherlock replied in unison with Henry. “Obviously.”

“Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.” Henry continued.

“And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?” Sherlock pressed, finally having taken his seat.

“It's a strange place, the hollow.” Henry said, shifting in his seat, as if the very idea of it made him uncomfortable. “Makes you feel so cold inside. So afraid.”

“Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier.” Sherlock said as John tried to suppress a sigh. “What did you see?”

“Footprints, on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.”

“Man's or woman's?” John asked.

“Neither...they were...” Henry started, but Sherlock interrupted him.

“That's it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?” He asked, exasperated.

“Yes, but they were...” Henry tried again, but he was again interrupted.

“No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!” Sherlock said with a forced smile. “Goodbye, Henry. Thank you for smoking.”

“No, but what about the footprints?” Henry asked, trying desperately to win back Sherlock's attention.

“Oh, they're probably paw prints. Could be anything, therefore, nothing.” Sherlock said, standing up and buttoning his jacket, then walking toward the hallway that lead to his room. “Off to Devon with you. Have a cream tea on me.”

“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!” Henry practically yelled after him, stopping Sherlock in his tracks.

“Say that again.” Sherlock said, pivoting on his heel to face his client.

“I found the footprints, they were...”

“No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.”

“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic...hound.” Henry repeated, looking a bit scared.

“I'll take the case.” Sherlock said suddenly, earning a puzzled look from John.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising.” Sherlock said to Henry, walking back into the sitting room.

“No, no, no. Sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?”

“It's nothing to do with the footprints. As ever, John, you weren't listening. Baskerville. Ever heard of it?”

“Vaguely, it's very hush-hush.” John said, wondering where Sherlock was going with this.

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

“Ah! You'll come down then?” Henry asked, excitement apparent in his voice.

“No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry, though, I'm putting my best man on the job.” Sherlock said, walking over to John and patting his shoulder, which earned a surprised look from him. “Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.”

“What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining...” John started his rant, but was stopped short by Sherlock.

“Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO's in uproar!”

“Oh, sorry, no. You're not coming then?” Henry asked, looking disappointed. Sherlock shook his head and looked toward John.

“Okay, fine.” John said with a huff, walking over to the skull on the mantelpiece and taking out a pack of cigarettes, then tossing them over his shoulder at Sherlock.

“I don't need those, John. I'm going to Dartmoor.” Sherlock said, tossing the cigarettes back as quickly as he'd received them, then walking back toward his bedroom. “You go on ahead, Henry, we'll follow later.”

“Uh, sorry, so you _are_ coming?” Henry asked, rising from his seat.

“Twenty year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound,” Sherlock paused, smiling at his client. “I wouldn't miss this one for the world!”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Tell me again why you're so keen on this case.” John said as he and Sherlock sat in a nearly empty pub, just having arrived from London.

“I haven't told you to start with.” Sherlock answered, scanning the room for anyone or anything of import.

“Well then, now would be a good time.”

“I'm interested, John, is that so strange?”

“It is in this case. Sherlock, you've never taken an interest in anything...well, supernatural, which is what this looks like from the outside.”

“And as you and I both know, it simply _can't_ be supernatural, which is why I would like to get to the bottom of it.” Sherlock answered, hoping that what he'd said was true. He'd had a few cases since returning to England, the biggest one involving Irene Adler, but nothing like this. The truth was, ever since he'd been back home, he couldn't stop thinking about supernatural things. The fact that he knew they existed was enough to make him wonder about everything. Could Irene Adler have been some kind of succubus or...some other strange creature from mythology? He would never know, not just by looking with his own eyes, and that was something that he didn't like. He never liked not knowing, and that was exactly how he felt all the time now.

John rolled his eyes at what seemed like a lost cause and got up to go to the bar, feeling like he needed a pint to help him through this one.

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” A portly man behind the bar asked John as he leaned against it, examining his various options.

“I'll just have a pint, thanks.” John said absentmindedly, clearly thinking about other things. “Um, I couldn't help noticing on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones.”

“Oh, that.”

“Pirates?” John asked with a smile.

“No, no,” the bartender said with a chuckle. “The great Grimpen Minefield, they call it.”

“Oh, right.”

“It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore.”

“Explosives?” John asked, doing a bit of investigating of his own.

“Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and, if you're lucky, you just get blown up...so they say. In case you're planning on a wee stroll.” The bartender said with a pleasant smile, placing John's drink on the bar in front of him.

“I'll be sure to remember that.”

“It's does mess up the tourism a bit. Thank God for the demon hound. Did you see that? The documentary.”

“Quite recently, yeah.” John replied, taking a sip of his beer and placing it back on the bar.

“God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.”

“Ever see it? The hound, I mean.”

“Me? No.” The bartender said dismissively. “Fletcher has. He runs the walks, the monster walks for the tourists, you know. He's seen it with his own eyes.”

“Sounds interesting. I think I'll have a chat with him about these monster walks.” John said, placing what he owed for the pint on the bar and nodding toward the bartender. He walked out to find Sherlock nicking a half drunk pint and sauntering over toward Fletcher. Clearly having overheard the bartender speaking about him to John.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sitting down on the bench across the table from Fletcher. He shrugged and Sherlock continued. “It's not true, is it? You haven't actually seen this _hound_ thing?”

“You from the papers?” Fletcher asked, eying Sherlock skeptically

“No, no, nothing like that. I'm just curious. _Have_ you seen it?”

“Maybe.”

“Got any proof?”

“Why would I tell you if I did?” Fletcher asked, turning defensive as John walked over to the table.

“I called Henry.” He said, just as Fletcher was about to walk off.

“Sorry John, bet's off.” Sherlock said suddenly, grabbing Fletcher's attention again.

“Sorry, what?” John asked.

“Bet?” Fletcher asked, interested.

“My plan needs darkness. We've got about another half an hour of light...” Sherlock continued, ignoring Fletcher.

“Wait, wait, what bet?” Fletcher asked again. Sherlock had him right where he wanted him.

“Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound.”

“Yeah,” John started, picking up on Sherlock's deception. “The guys in the bar said that you had.”

“Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate.” Fletcher said with a smile.

“Yeah?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn't make much out.”

“I see, no witnesses, I suppose.”

“No, but...”

“There never are.”

“Wait, I've got this.” Fletcher said, pulling out his phone and showing him a blurry picture that could have been anything. “There. Proof.”

“Is that it? That's hardly _proof_.” Sherlock scoffed. “Sorry John, I win.”

“Wait, wait, that's not all. People don't like going up there, you know. Gives them a...bad sort of feeling.”

“Oh! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?” Sherlock asked, picking up the stolen beer glass and making to get up from the bench.

“Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there _is_ something out there. Something escaped from Baskerville.

“Oh, what, a clone? A super dog?” Sherlock asked, mocking Fletcher.

“Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years.”

“Is that the best you've got?”

“I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing, but he never showed up. Well, not until late, anyway. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said. 'That I never wanna see again. Terrible things'. He'd been sent to some secret army place, Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else.” Fletcher said, leaning closer and reaching into his bag. “In the labs there, the really secret ones, he said he's seen terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs the size of horses.” When Fletcher stopped digging in his bag he pulled out a large cast of a _very_ large footprint that looked like the print of a giant dog.

“Uh, we did say fifty?” John chimed in, smiling at Sherlock and holding out his hand. Sherlock dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet to pay John, then walked away without another word.

“We need to go to the moors tonight, John.” Sherlock said when he was out of earshot of Fletcher.

“Sherlock, you can't possibly think that he's telling the truth? He could have made that cast himself.” John argued as he struggled to keep pace with his friend's long strides.

“We're taking Henry with us.”

“He'll be scared out of his mind! You can't just take someone like him back to the place where he witnessed his father's murder!”

“I can, and I will. It's the only way we're going to get to the bottom of this. Tell Henry to meet us in our room at the inn. We've got work to do.”

 

oOo

 

“What's all this about?” Henry asked as he walked in the door to the small room Sherlock and John had rented for the duration of their stay.

“We're going to the moor tonight, Henry, specifically Dewer's Hollow.” Sherlock explained, tossing a flashlight to Henry.

“I'm not going back there!” He exclaimed, fumbling to catch what Sherlock had tossed to him.

“It's very important that you go with us, Henry. We need to retrace your steps exactly to get to the bottom of this.”

“Mr. Holmes, I can't go back there. Please, I'm begging you. Don't make me.” Henry pleaded. Sherlock thought he might drop to his knees and grovel at his feet, but it seemed he was only slightly too proud for that.

“Henry, if you want me to solve this case you have to show me exactly where you were when you saw the hound. If we can find it, then I'm sure we can get rid of it. Wouldn't you like that?” Sherlock asked, visibly annoyed by his detailed explanation of his plan.

“I suppose so.” Henry said, clearly scared out of his mind at the thought of going back.

Night had fallen and Sherlock didn't want to waste any time getting to the case. The thought of something supernatural happening so close to home was both terrifying and exciting. He hadn't exactly been thrilled when demons threatened to possess him before, but now that it was a monster that could only potentially kill him, it wasn't much more of a threat than he normally faced. Admittedly, he wasn't quite sure how to kill whatever it was they were after, and he was sure it would be difficult, but if he could only identify it he was sure he could figure out how to kill it. They arrived outside of a small patch of woods close to Baskerville when Henry told them they'd gone far enough.

“We'll have to walk from here. The car won't be able to make it the rest of the way.” He said as Sherlock stopped the car and the three of them exited the vehicle. The walk through the woods was a bit strenuous, and somehow John got separated from Sherlock and Henry on the way. Confident that he would be alright, Sherlock pressed on without him. It was paramount that Henry take him to where he needed to be. They walked for a bit longer before Sherlock started to hear low growling.

“What was that?” Henry asked in almost a whisper, freezing in his tracks and looking back at Sherlock. “Where did your friend go?”

“He's fine. Keep going, Henry, we can't stop until we get to the hollow.” Sherlock urged, shining a flashlight in all directions. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, and that was enough to make Henry feel safe. Once they reached the hollow Sherlock felt as though he was being watched. The dense fog made it hard for him to see anything, and the surrounding cliffs were more than a little unsettling. Suddenly, another growl came from behind them. They heard a long and anguished howl after that, and far too close for comfort. Sherlock spun and shone his flashlight in the direction the sound was coming from and his eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Oh my God.” Henry said, terror filling his features as he reached out for Sherlock to urge him to run. When Henry spoke, the beast that Sherlock had spotted turned and bounded off. He only got a short look, but he could have sworn that what he saw was something that, until now, he didn't believe could even exist. Sherlock hurried out of the hollow, Henry following quickly behind, when they ran into John at the edge of the woods.

“Did you hear that?” He asked, referencing the howl they'd heard up close only moments ago. Sherlock walked straight past him without so much as a glance.

“We saw it! We saw it!” Henry shouted frantically as he rushed past John.

“We didn't see anything.” Sherlock said, still walking toward the car.

“What? What are you talking about? Sherlock, what did you see?” John asked, rushing up to Sherlock and catching him by the arm. He turned around quickly and jerked his arm out of John's grasp.

“I didn't. See. Anything.” He said coldly, then took the remaining few strides to the car and entered without another word.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock couldn't even think about sleep tonight. All he could think about was what he saw, or what he _thought_ he saw, in Dewer's Hollow with Henry. It couldn't have been real. What he saw in that hollow was something that was only real in films. His whole life Mycroft had told him that monsters weren't real, and that was only logical, but ever since that day he was suddenly whisked away to America Sherlock had trouble believing the things his elder brother had told him. He held his mobile phone in his right hand and a glass of scotch in his left as he sat in the pub. This decision was one of the hardest ones that he would have to make for a long time, and it was really beginning to take its toll.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't used to calling anyone for help, but in this case he felt like he was in over his head. He drank the rest of his scotch in one big gulp, then sat the glass down on a table beside his chair by the fire, and began to scroll through the contacts in his phone. Molly Hooper's name was one of the only ones he had listed, along with John, Mycroft, and Lestrade, but he hadn't even thought about contacting her since he returned home. What would she think if he suddenly called her out of the blue? Was she even still alive? For all he knew, Molly could be dead in a ditch somewhere, and no one would have ever told him. It had been two years since he'd spoken to her, after all. Two long years since the goodbye that threatened to send him spiraling out of control. Admittedly, he hadn't done well with his drug abuse since returning home, but he still had some small bit of control over his life.

His finger hovered over her name for a long time before he finally worked up the courage to tap it. The phone began to ring. Once. Twice. Thrice. Just when he was ready to hang up, he heard the sound of the line being answered.

“Sherlock?” Molly's voice rang through the speaker, a confused tone to it. He only sat with his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the sound of her voice before he realized he should probably speak.

“Molly.” He said finally, just before she was about to hang up. “How have you been?”

“Sherlock, is something wrong?” She asked, able to read him just like she always had been.

“I was actually wondering if...if you might consider coming back for a visit.”

“Well, I'm a little busy now, but...” Molly started, but Sherlock interrupted her.

“Molly, there's something strange going on here. In Dartmoor. I think...I think you should bring Sam and Dean to investigate.”

“What?” Molly asked, dumbfounded by his request. “Can I put you on speaker phone?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, we're all here.” She said after a moment.

“Sam, Dean, I trust you've been taking care of my pathologist.” Sherlock said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“It's good to hear from you, Sherlock.” Sam said, and Sherlock could tell he was genuine in saying so.

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean chimed in.

“I was telling Molly...I think you three should come to Dartmoor. There's a bit of a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Dean asked, skeptically.

“A man was mauled to death by, what his son describes as a 'gigantic hound' near the Baskerville army base. The man's body was never found, and the boy was left an orphan. The case is twenty years old, but the son- Henry Knight- came to my flat yesterday begging for my help after he encountered the beast again. There's a story about a giant hound roaming the moors and hollows around Baskerville, and the base itself is known for...less than savory experimentation.” Sherlock explained.

“What kind of experimentation?” Sam asked.

“Genetic.”

“So, you think there's something supernatural there?” Dean asked.

“I know it sounds mad...”Sherlock started, but was interrupted by Dean.

“You don't sound mad.” Dean said, confused.

“He means crazy, Dean.” Sam said, exasperated.

“What do you think is out there?” Molly asked, steering the conversation back on course.

“A...werewolf.” Sherlock said, struggling to get the word to leave his lips.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry, but we ain't coming across the pond for some crazy guy's delusions.” Dean said, and Sherlock could almost see the skeptical look he must have been wearing. “You don't have enough evidence.”

“I saw it too.”

“What?” Molly asked, clearly startled by the admission.

“I saw it. I can't...I don't know how else to explain it. It was huge. Glowing red eyes. Black fur. It was the biggest beast I've ever seen.”

“Doesn't sound like a werewolf.” Molly said, clearly talking to Sam and Dean.

“Yeah, but it sounds like something.” Sam added. “Shape shifter, maybe.”

“I don't know.” Dean said. “Seems a little fishy to me.”

“Please.” Sherlock started again. “I don't know what to do. People are dying here. I don't know how to fight this thing on my own, whatever it might be. I don't often admit that I'm defeated, but if you're looking for that admission, you have it. I have no idea what's going on here and I need your help.”

“We'll catch the first flight we can, Sherlock.” Molly said comfortingly. “I'll call you when we land.”

“What, Molly, we can't just pick up and leave with everything that's going on!” Dean said, sounding angry.

“We're going.” Molly said sternly.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.

“We'll be there soon, Sherlock. Until then, stay inside. Stay safe.”

“I will.” Sherlock answered, pausing for a moment. “Thank you, Molly.”

“Don't mention it.” Molly answered, then hung up.

He sat alone for a few more minutes, holding his phone to his chin and thinking about what had just happened. Molly was actually coming back, but he doubted much would change with the new turn of events. She and Sam and Dean would fight the monster and save the day, and then they would go back to America, where they belonged. The thought was maddening. He went to the bar to get another scotch and sat back in his chair by the fire when John walked in the door. He came over immediately and sat in the chair beside him, looking at him with concern.

“Well, Henry's in a pretty bad way. He's manic. Totally convinced there's a giant hound wondering around the moors.” He looked at Sherlock, whose hands were steepled under his chin, staring into the fire. “There isn't though, is there? Because if people knew how to make a mutant super dog, we'd know about it.”

Sherlock didn't say anything. He sat in his chair, closed his eyes, and interlocked his fingers to try and stop them from trembling. Then took a deep breath. John continued on.

“They'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works, isn't it?” He asked, trying to get some kind of response from his friend. When he didn't get one, he kept speaking. “So, okay, what have we got? We know there's footprints, because Henry found them, and so did the tour guide. Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog.”

“Henry's right.” Sherlock said suddenly, his eyes snapping open as he reached for his glass.

“Sorry, what?” John asked in disbelief.

“I...I saw it too.” Sherlock continued, his voice shaking.

“What?”

“I saw it too, John.”

“Just...just hold on a second.” John said, sitting up in his chair so he could get a better look at Sherlock. “You saw what?”

“A hound, in the hollow. A gigantic. Hound.”

“Look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, yeah? Now, you, of all people, can't just...” He stopped, gathering his thoughts, trying to think of a way to put what he wanted to say delicately. “Let's just stick to what we know, yeah? Stick to the facts.”

“Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Sherlock said, remembering the last time he'd spoken those words in the library in America.

“What does that mean?” John asked, bewildered.

“Look at me, John.” Sherlock said, looking down at the glass he was holding and noticing that his hand was shaking violently. “I'm afraid.” He took a large drink.

“Sherlock?” John said, seeming more concerned than anything now.

“I've always been able to keep myself distant, divorce myself from feelings.” He took another drink, then set down his glass. “But look, you see...my body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.” He clasped his hands in his lap, trying to keep himself from shaking. “The grit on the lens. The fly in the ointment.”

“Yeah, alright Sherlock. I think you've had a bit much to drink. You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

“Worked up?”

“It was dark and scary...”

“Don't treat me like a child, John!” Sherlock said, raising his voice, which made several tables of people turn to stare. “There's nothing wrong with me.”

“Sherlock...” John said, completely at a loss for what to do. Sherlock began breathing heavily again, his fingers trembling in his lap.

“There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand?!” He shouted, then calmed himself, realizing the scene he was making. “What, you want me to prove it?”

“I...” John started, but Sherlock cut him off.

“We're looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?” Sherlock looked around the room and found a table of two people, an older looking woman and a young man. “How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer is yes.”

“Yes?”

“She's got a West Highland terrier called Whiskey. Not exactly what we're looking for.”

“Sherlock, for God's sake...”

“Look at the jumper he's wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe it's because of the material, more likely the hideous pattern. Suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So, he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He's treating her to a meal, but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economize on his own food.”

“Well, maybe he's not hungry.” John said, trying to derail his friend, but Sherlock wasn't having it.

“No, small plate. Starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry all right, and not well off, you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes. 'How do you know she's his mother'?” Sherlock mocked John's voice, refusing to wait for him to ask the question on his own. “Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother's more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive, fish hooks. They're all quite old now, which suggest he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help.”

“Alright, Sherlock.” John said, but he kept going.

“'Widowed?' Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain round her neck, clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well dressed but her jewelry’s cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it, it's sentimental. Now, the dog. Tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it _is_ , a West Highland terrier called Whiskey. 'How the hell do you know that, Sherlock'? Because she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name, and that's not cheating, that's listening. I use my senses, John, unlike _some_ people, so you see, I'm fine. In fact I've never been better, so just leave. Me. Alone.”

Sherlock breathed heavily, having exhausted himself from the exertion of his deductions. He glared at John, hands still shaking, before he took the last drink from the glass he'd left on the table beside him. John only sat staring, clearly concerned for his friend, but his anger was more evident.

“Yeah. Okay. Why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend.” He said, staring needles back at Sherlock.

“I don't have friends.” He replied sharply.

“Nah. Wonder why?” John asked, then promptly got up and left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock had been up all night, sitting in the same chair, drinking the same scotch as when John left him. He knew he shouldn't have been so rude to John, he was really the only person he had left now that Molly was gone, but he couldn't help it. He was too on edge. Too focused on his world crumbling down around him. He was completely drunk when he heard his mobile ringing, and struggled to answer it before it went to voice mail.

“Molly.” He slurred into his phone once he finally answered.

“Sherlock. Are you okay?” She asked, concerned.

“Wonderful to hear from you.”

“Are you...drunk?” Molly asked, and Sherlock could swear he heard Dean laughing in the background.

“Perhaps.” Sherlock answered.

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“Cross Keys.” He slurred, struggling to keep his drooping eyelids open. “Dartmoor.”

“Room number?” Molly asked, but Sherlock couldn't focus on what was happening.

“See you soon, Molly.” He said, before hanging up, to Molly's protests.

 

oOo

 

“There's no way that guy is drunk.” Dean said after Molly's call with Sherlock ended abruptly. They'd gotten in a cab to find their way to the Inn Sherlock was talking about. Dean had wanted to ship his car across the ocean, but Molly and Sam refused to spend what little money they  _did_ have on something like that, and the plane tickets had left a horrible ache in their wallets.

“Well he's certainly under the influence of something.”

“So, what do you think this really is?” Sam asked, keeping his voice down so that the cabby wouldn't hear him.

“It doesn't fit werewolf. We all know that they don't really look like the movies. It has to be a shape shifter. Maybe a trickster.” Dean said, staring out the window.

“Whatever it is, he's scared out of his mind. You heard him on the phone. I've never heard him like that before. Something is definitely up, and he can't explain it.” Molly said, dialing the number she knew belonged to John. If she couldn't talk to Sherlock, she knew John would know what was happening. It didn't take long for him to answer, they hadn't spoken in ages.

“Molly?” John asked, a strange tone to his voice.

“Hello, John. How have you been?” Molly asked, having the feeling that John wasn't too happy to be speaking to her.

“I've been better.” He said in a short tone. “What can I help you with?”

“Actually, Sherlock called me. He said he's on a case. I was visiting, I brought some friends from America, and I thought that I'd stop by to see the two of you.”

“Uh...yeah. We're not in London, at the moment.”

“I know. Sherlock told me where you're staying. We've got reservations there as well. I just thought it would be nice to catch up, and introduce you to the friends I've made in America.” Molly continued, not letting John weasel his way out of meeting them.

“Sherlock and I aren't exactly talking at the moment.” John said, his voice hard.

“What? What's happened?”

“This case is really messing with him. He's being a right git. I was thinking of going back to London. Not sure why I even came in the first place.”

“Wait, let's all meet up and see if we can't work it out. I'm sure there was just a little misunderstanding. You two are such good friends...”

“No, Molly, he made it very clear last night that he doesn't  _have_ friends.”

“John, I'm sure he's just in one of his moods, you know how he is. Just give him a chance, I'm sure he'll apologize. Please meet with us. Just for lunch.” Molly pleaded.

“Fine. I'll meet you in the pub at the Inn. I think he's still there, he didn't come back to the room last night.”

“I think he's still there, too. I've just talked with him on the phone, he wasn't making much sense. Go check in on him?”

“Sure.” John said, then hung up. Molly leaned her head against Sam's shoulder and he laced his fingers through hers.

“You're worried about him?” He asked.

“I'm worried that he's pushing the only friend he's got away for good.” Molly answered, looking up through her eyelashes at Sam. To be completely honest, her little group hadn't been having a great time, either. The situation in America had gotten worse. Sam was developing powers that no one could explain. They knew it had to have something to do with Azazel, but they were having trouble finding a definite answer. It had put all of them on edge, and that was the last thing they needed if they were going to work a case.

“Is that news?” Dean asked, remembering the general attitude of Sherlock. It was enough to make most people dismiss him as a decent human being, much less a friend.

“John is the only person that can even begin to understand Sherlock, besides me. If he loses him, what do you think will happen?”

The rest of the ride was in silence while Molly went over all the questions they would need to ask John and Sherlock when they arrived, assuming Sherlock could stay conscious. He'd sounded more than a little intoxicated over the phone, and that alone was enough to get her worried. She wrung her hands in her lap, a sign of her nervousness that Sam had picked up on over the two years they'd been traveling and living together. Once they arrived at the Inn and gathered what little belongings they'd brought with them, they hurried into the pub where they saw John at the bar.

“John.” Molly said as she walked over, Sam and Dean trailing behind her.

“Molly.” He said, nodding to her, then looking past her and to her companions. “These must be your new friends.”

“Yes. This is Dean, and his brother Sam.” Molly said, gesturing to each of them respectively. Sam put his arm around her shoulders at the mention of his name and smiled at John.

“It's nice to meet you John.” He said, extending his hand for a handshake and earning a strange look.

“So, an American?” John asked, practically ignoring Sam. He withdrew his hand after that.

“Two, actually.” Dean chimed in. “It's a pleasure.”

“Yeah.” John said, never taking his eyes off Molly. “He's over here, passed out in an armchair.” They followed John to the fireplace, where the fire had long since gone out, and found Sherlock somehow completely curled into a ball in the chair, still wearing his signature belstaff.

“Sherlock?” Molly said, cautiously approaching the man that she hardly recognized as the detective she'd left alone two years ago. His hair was a mess, matted dark curls on his forehead. His suit disheveled, evidence of something having been spilled on the jacket. His eyes were sunken in, accentuating his already sharp cheek bones, and he seemed to have lost a significant amount of weight that he couldn't really afford to lose. He woke up when he heard her voice, pushing himself to an upright position as quickly as he could without pushing himself right into the floor.

“M-Molly?” He stuttered, squinting his eyes against the light that was now filling the pub, no doubt fighting a horrible hangover. “You're...really here. This isn't a dream?”

“I told you we would come.” Molly answered with a smile, pulling him into an embrace. He stunk of liquor and cigarettes, which made her worry about him even more than she had been the whole time she'd been gone. His comment about dreaming about her didn't help her strife, either.

“The hound. You have to do something about it.” Sherlock said, pointing to Sam and Dean who stood behind Molly.

“He's been spouting this rubbish all night. He doesn't know what he's talking about, Molly. I think he's gone off the deep end.” John chimed in, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“We came on a case. I didn't think anything of it. Henry Knight's father was killed by it twenty years ago. Now it's back.”

“You can't honestly believe him.” John said again, completely astonished that Molly and her new companions had been listening so intently.

“I know it sounds mad, John, but he might be telling the truth.” Molly said, at risk of sounding mad herself. “Didn't he tell you what happened in America? Why I stayed?”

“No, but I think I get the idea.” John gave Sam and Dean admittedly dirty looks.

“We were taken to America somehow, we still don't really know how exactly, because demons wanted Sherlock.” Molly tried to explain, but John's face just screwed up into the most confused look she had ever seen.

“What are you going on about? Molly, what's gotten into you?”

“It's true, John. Demons are real, werewolves, vampires, and loads of other things that I'm sure you can't even begin to believe in. I think Sherlock really  _did_ see something supernatural out there on the moor, I just don't know what it is yet.”

“A werewolf.” Sherlock suggested, sounding unsure of himself, for once.

“Nah, werewolves don't really look like big hairy dogs running around, and it's not really their M.O. Usually they take the hearts of their victims, but apparently this guy's dad just vanished into thin air. It's not like a werewolf at all.” Dean explained, earning another concerned and somewhat peeved look from John. “I'm thinking shape shifter. They can turn into anything.”

“You are all completely  _daft_ .” John said, a little louder than Molly would have liked. “You're all on drugs, aren't you? He saw a  _dog_ , Molly. A big dog. That's it.”

“That doesn't explain how people are going missing. Dogs don't just make people vanish.” Dean said, beginning to get irritated that John was keeping them from doing their job.

“How do you expect me to believe something like this? I mean, werewolves? Shape shifters? This isn't a fairy tale, Molly, this is real life. Someone has  _actually_ died. I thought you had more respect for people than this.”

“You'd be surprised how many fairy tales and monster stories are actually out there.” Sam said, trying to be delicate.

“And I'm supposed to just go on the word of two strangers and the pathologist from Bart's?” John asked. “Oh, I forgot, you gave up that job to go shack up with these two idiots!”

“John...I'm only trying to help. I know that you don't understand why I left London, but you have to believe me when I say that it was the right thing to do.” Molly said in a hurt tone. John was usually so pleasant to be around, she couldn't understand why he was behaving the way he was.

“Just...look, I don't know how you expect me to believe this malarkey. You sound completely out of your skull, Molly, do you know that?”

“Trust me, we all know by now that we sound crazy saying things like this. Just come with us, we'll get Sherlock back to your room and we'll explain everything once we get there.” Sam said, seeming a bit irritated at the way John was behaving.

“Fine. I'll need help with him.” John said, moving to help Sherlock out of the chair, but Dean was there before he could move him.

“I've got him.” He said, pulling Sherlock up by his arm and placing his around the inebriated detective's waist. “I've handled enough drunk people to know what to do.”

Sherlock stirred and managed to stay conscious enough to walk himself, with the aid of Dean supporting most of his weight, up the stairs and into the small room that he and John were supposed to have shared the night before. Dean let him fall down on the bed, exhausted from the short walk.

“He's still drunk.” Molly said in a bit of a surprised tone as Sherlock rolled over and curled into the fetal position, seeming to have forgotten the other people in the room.

“He should be, he was at the pub all night, drinking scotch. He was in a bad way last night. I tried to talk to him, talk him through whatever he was afraid of, but there wasn't any helping it. He got angry and snapped at me, but what did I really expect. He is a complete ass.” John said, situating himself in a comfortable looking red chair that sat by the window of the room.

“He has good reason to be scared. If that is a shape shifter out there, he's lucky to be alive.” Dean said, reaching into the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket and pulling his father's journal out, then laying it on a table that sat next to John's chair.

“What's this?” John asked, eying the book suspiciously.

“Dad's journal. Every monster he's ever seen is described in here, in detail. Some of them have drawings. It should help us figure out what we're dealing with. As soon as sleeping beauty over there is awake he can look through and tell us exactly what he saw.”

“So you're telling me that your whole family is completely mad?” John asked, shifting his gaze between Sam and Dean.

“Listen buddy, I don't know why you think you're so much better than us, but we're here to help you. I didn't want to come here, but Molly insisted, and I do whatever I can to help my family. If she cares about you, then I can't tell her no.” Dean said, aggravated at the constant insults he'd received since they arrived, and in that aggravation, saying a little more than he should have.

“Family?” John asked, completely ignoring everything else Dean had said. “Molly, what does he mean?”

“I...I was going to wait until after we'd solved the case...” Molly stammered, watching as John's gaze drifted to her left hand to find a wedding band on her ring finger.

“You married  _him_ ?” John asked, jabbing a finger toward Dean with a sour expression on his face.

“What? No.” Sam chimed in, shaking his head and holding up his left hand to show his own wedding ring. “You think Dean is Molly's type? He's a muscle head. You think she would go from the most brilliant detective in London to Dean?”

“Hey!” Dean said, offended.

“Stop.” Molly sighed, not able to look John in the eye.

“Does Sherlock know?” John asked sternly. Molly didn't answer, she only bit her lip and made herself meet his angry gaze. “Does. He. Know?”

“Don't tell him, John. It'll only distract him and he doesn't need that right now. Just let me do it myself.”

“You are  _really_ a piece of work, Molly Hooper. I might have expected something like this from him, but you?”

“Um, it's actually Molly Winchester now.” Dean corrected. John looked as if he was about to protest again, but Molly cut him off before he could start.

“Regardless of what you might think of me now, we need to stop bickering and get to the bottom of this before someone else dies. We'll need to find some weapons. We weren't able to bring ours with us.” She said, trying to ignore the disappointment in John's voice and features. How could he really be that upset with her? Did he expect her to wait on Sherlock forever. It was obvious to her that he would have never given her the love that she gave him, and she wasn't prepared to spend her whole life alone.

“I've got my gun.” John said, fishing it out from the waistband of his jeans and holding it out for everyone to see. “You mean to tell me that, if this is something  _supernatural_ , it can be killed with an ordinary weapon?”

“Ordinary weapon,  _extraordinary_ ammunition.” Dean said with a smile. “We'll have to find some silver to melt down, I've got the mold for the bullets.”

“You lunatics seem to all believe this, so I guess I'll have to go along with it if we have any hope of  _actually_ solving this case. But Molly, if you're going to hide a marriage from Sherlock, you might want to remove your wedding rings.” John chastised, tucking his gun back in place.

“You're right.” Molly agreed, pulling the silver circlet off of her finger, then digging through a bag she'd brought with her to pull out a small box. She placed the ring inside, then held it out for Sam to do the same. He looked upset at first, but understood why it needed to be done and, reluctantly, removed his matching ring and placed it in the box.

“So, uh...this is awkward.” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. Molly rolled her eyes at him and sat herself in another chair that sat beside the table.

“This man that came to you about the case, where is he?” Sam asked, trying to be as pleasant as he could with John even though he'd made Molly upset.

“He's got a place near here, but I'm sure he's not awake yet. He was so distraught last night after his encounter that I had to give him something to help him sleep.”

“You just hand out drugs to people?” Dean asked.

“John is a doctor, Dean. He was in the army.” Molly said, having forgotten to include that small detail before.

“That explains the gun, I guess. And the drugs.”

“So,” Molly said, ignoring whatever else Dean had to say. “the only two people that have actually seen this thing, and lived to tell the tale, are both unconscious. We can't sit around here doing nothing while we wait for them to rejoin the world of the living. Dean, go with John to get some guns and silver. Sam and I will stay here and do some research on Baskerville while you're gone. Hopefully by the time we all get back together we'll be able to talk to Sherlock and Henry about this.”

“You want me to go off with him? I barely know him.” John protested from his seat, gripping the arm rests tightly.

“He's perfectly friendly. As long as you aren't some kind of supernatural creature, that is.” Molly said hesitantly, knowing the Dean was as deadly a weapon as any  _actual_ weapon they could use. “Just please go with him John. We really need everyone's help here.”

“Fine.” John said, pushing himself to his feet with a huff and looking at Dean as if he was waiting for him to lead the way.

“I don't know where the hell I am, man. You're gonna have to take the lead on this one.” Dean said once he realized what the hold up was.

“Bloody hell.” John exclaimed, then grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

“They actually say that here?” Dean asked with a ridiculously amused smile on his face. Sam rolled his eyes and took a deep breath as John stormed out the door and Dean followed closely behind him.

Molly raked her fingers through her hair and let out a deep sigh after they had left, completely at a loss of what to do next. John seemed to be angry with her for leaving London, and he didn't seem like he was willing to believe anything she had to say to him now. Sherlock had drunk himself into a stupor, and was of no use to them at the moment, and the only other person that might be remotely willing to believe anything she had to say was in drug induced sleep. She doubled over in her chair, hugging her arms close to her chest, just trying to figure out what to do.

“Are you okay?” She heard Sam ask from her right as he took a few steps closer.

“No.” Molly said, returning to an upright position. “I don't know what to do. John seems to hate me now, and apparently Sherlock hasn't been doing well while I've been away. I never imagined that leaving London would have this much of an effect on him. He never gave me the time of day, Sam. I loved him, but...he was too late.”

“Don't beat yourself up about this. John doesn't understand what we've been through together. Things like that change people. He can't expect you to go back to your old life, and being obsessed with Sherlock in the first place probably wasn't the most healthy thing for you.” Sam said, reaching out to take Molly's hand and placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“I know. It was better for me to get away. Who knows how long I would have fawned over him if I had never met you.” She stopped and gave him a weak smile. “It was torture every day I saw him, knowing that he wouldn't ever love me the way I loved him. I don't have to worry about that with you. I just...” Molly paused, looking down at their conjoined hands. “he makes me feel so guilty. Like this is all my fault.”

“Don't let him get to you. You know he's just upset because his friend is hurt. You would feel the same way. Sherlock will just have to learn to get over it. He had his chance, and he missed it. I don't want him to suffer any more than you or John do, but it was his own mistake. We all make them. We all have to live with them.”

“Luckily I only have ten more years to live with mine.” They both turned quickly to see Sherlock struggling to sit up on the bed. He looked at the two of them with tired eyes, squinting at the light that made his head throb even more than it already had been.

“How long have you...” Molly started, but Sherlock interrupted her.

“Long enough.” He replied, scrubbing his face with his hands. Molly got up and drew the curtains, then turned the lights in the room off to try and make him more comfortable.

“Sam, get the ibuprofen out of the bag.” Molly instructed, and Sam immediately did as she requested.

“Have you spoken to Henry yet?” Sherlock asked as Molly sat down on the bed beside him.

“No, John says he's still out cold. We have some ideas about what this thing might be, but we need to do some more research.” Molly reached over to the table where Dean had left his father's journal and grabbed it, opening it to the page about shape shifters.

“Interesting.” Sherlock said, reading through the pain he felt in his head and the sickness he was battling. “You think this is what we're up against, then?”

“It's hard to say without getting a look at it, but it can't be a werewolf. Shape shifters can be pretty brutal. Werewolves usually just go for the heart, but you said the victim just vanished. This is the only lead we have right now.”

“Where can we find out more?” Sam asked, handing Sherlock the bottle of ibuprofen he'd fetched for him and a glass of water. Sherlock nodded his thanks at Sam and took the pills.

“Baskerville. There are rumors of the things that they do there, but we'll need to find out if there's any truth to it.”

“We need to talk to Henry.” Molly said, closing the journal and handing it to Sam. When she did, Sherlock caught sight of a tattoo on her wrist that seemed vaguely familiar. He hadn't thought Molly had any tattoos before. He caught her wrist and examined it more closely, then reached under his shirt and brought out the necklace with the anti-possession charm that Dean had given him. The symbols were exactly the same.

“That's new.” He said, releasing her wrist after a moment.

“It's easier than keeping up with a charm.” She explained, then clasped her hands in her lap. “I usually cover it with makeup. I just didn't have much time today. I was worried about you, Sherlock.”

“Do all three of you have them?” Sherlock asked, looking to Sam for confirmation. Sam pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the same symbol tattooed over his heart.

“Perhaps I should look into it as well. I can give this charm to someone else, then.” Sherlock said, tucking the necklace back under his shirt again.

“Sherlock, how have you been? I've been worried about you since I've been in America.” Molly asked, trying to change the subject.

“I suppose I can't complain too much. Work has been a bit slow. I worked a case not too long ago, it had to do with a woman that was blackmailing the royal family.” Sherlock said, opening up to Molly much more easily than she had expected. “She's dead now.”

“Oh. I'm...sorry to hear that.”

“No, you shouldn't be. She manipulated me, almost won, but in the end I stopped her.” Sherlock explained. In truth, one of the reasons Irene had gotten to him so easily was because of Molly. He'd taken the case not long after he returned from America. The hole that Molly left in his heart was still fresh, and Irene Adler had been able to fill it, if only for her own purposes. He had been naïve, and gullible. A mistake he didn't plan to make again.

“Did you...?” Sam began, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Of course not. She was involved with some very...unsavory people. She got herself beheaded in Karachi. Terrorist cell. Blackmail isn't really a great business to be in.”

“No cases since then?” Molly asked.

“Not really. Nothing important, anyway. This is the first interesting case I've had in months. To tell you the truth, I didn't really expect it to be the kind of thing I would have to call you in for. But it is, Molly. I can't explain what I saw.”

“It's okay, we're here to help.” Molly said with a smile. “Let's go see if we can talk to Henry, yeah?”

“Of course.” Sherlock agreed. “But I warn you, he's a bit more...disturbed than I am. He's unstable.”

“Story of our lives.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure you're feeling up to this, Sherlock?” Molly asked as she and Sam followed him out of the Inn. “I'm sure that we could handle it.”

“Yes, I'm fine.” He replied. John and Dean had taken the car they rented while on their trip, so he started to look for a cab.

“It's just, you don't look all that well.”

“Yes, and you've gained ten pounds since you've settled into domestic bliss with Mr. Winchester, but you don't see me pointing it out.”

“Well, actually...” Sam started, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Besides, Henry won't talk to you. He doesn't know you, but he trusts me. I have to be there.”

“I see you're feeling well enough to act like a knob.” Molly commented as a cab pulled up and the three of them climbed in.

“I've been told I do that regardless of how I'm feeling.”

“So, this Henry guy, he'll talk to us? I mean, he'll believe us when we say that we've come here to get rid of the...”

“Hound. Yes, he'll believe you.” Sherlock replied in a short tone. It had been years since he'd seen Molly, but somehow he felt as though she'd been with him the whole time. He knew Molly couldn't give him what he wanted, and what she had wanted so long ago, and that put him in a horrible mood. The fact that he was suffering the worst, and possibly only, hangover of his life wasn't helping, either. They arrived at Henry's house and Sherlock thought Sam's jaw might hit the ground.

“Your guy lives here?” He asked, marveling at the large, two story house that Henry resided in.

“Yes. I hear he's rather well off, despite his tormented past.” Sherlock walked to the door after his remark and rung the doorbell, waiting patiently for his client to answer.

“Surely he isn't still knocked out. It's almost two o'clock in the afternoon.” Molly said, walking over to peer into a window.

“See anything?” Sam asked from his position by the door. Molly shook her head and looked over just in time to see Sam and Sherlock pulling almost identical lock picking kits out of their pockets at the same time. They stopped and stared at each other for a moment, then Sam spoke.

“Do you want to?” He asked, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“No, no, go right ahead.” Sherlock answered, tucking his kit away and stepping to the side with a bitter look on his face. It only took a moment for Sam to gain entry, and they all rushed inside and closed the door quickly behind them.

“Henry.” Sherlock called, his voice echoing through the large house. He wandered into the sitting room, hoping to find Henry passed out on the sofa, but he had no such luck.

“Where do you think he is?” Sam asked, moving around the room and looking at various objects.

“He couldn't have gone far, John said he would be knocked out. Surely he didn't just...disappear.” Molly added.

“Stranger things have happened.

“We'll need to notify the police.” Sherlock said, standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.

“Why?” Molly asked.

“Isn't it obvious? Mr. Knight has gone missing. We need to file a missing person's report.”

“Well, we can't just call the police after we broke into some rich guy's house. Let's just go to the station.” Sam suggested, but Sherlock shook his head. “Fine. Anonymous call, then. We'll all be out by the time they get here. Anything else?”

“No, let's get out of here and see where John and Dean are.” Sam said, giving Molly a look and heading out the door. She and Sherlock followed closely behind and, once they were out of the house, Sherlock called to inform the police of the situation.

When they got back to Cross Keys, Dean and John were already there waiting for them, a large green duffel bag laid on the bed. John staring out the window of the room, not saying a word to Dean. He only turned around to see who had come into the room.

“Did you get what we need?” Sam asked as they entered, closing the door behind them.

“We've got at least one gun for everyone. Picked up some rock salt. Found some silver laying around, we just need to melt it down.” Dean answered.

“How's Henry?” John asked, looking at Sherlock.

“Gone.” Sherlock answered without hesitation.

“What do you mean?”

“We went to his home to talk to him, but he isn't there. I believe he's fallen victim to the same creature that took his father.”

“Oh, for God's sake Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you that monsters aren't real?”

“How many times do we have to tell you they _are_?” Dean asked, exasperated.

“If I can believe, why not you?” Sherlock asked from the corner of the room.

“Because, Sherlock, there _has_ to be some logical explanation to this. I thought you, of all people, would know that.”

“John, sometimes things happen that defy logic. I don't know how to explain this, or what happened in America, but somehow they happen. Sherlock really never told you the full story, did he?” Molly asked, eying Sherlock who cast his gaze downward.

“I've tried to get it out of him, but he won't tell me. I suppose you're going to tell me that it's because some monster took you there and you had to fight it off?”

“It was a demon. One of the most powerful demons we know of, actually.” Dean started, not giving John any of the softness or subtlety that Molly would have. “It wanted Sherlock so that it could find the only weapon in the world that can kill any supernatural creature. So, it brought him to America. We're still not entirely sure why it felt the need to bring Molly along, but we're working on it.”

“A demon...really?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at Molly.

“It's called Azazel. It possessed Sherlock while we were there and killed me.” Molly said, which made John squint in confusion.

“I made a deal with a crossroads demon to bring her back, though, because that's how much of a gentleman I am.” Sherlock added from his corner with a wry smile.

“What kind of deal?” John asked, finally able to clear his thoughts for long enough to actively participate in the conversation.

“To bring Molly back to life, obviously.”

“But, every deal comes with a price.” Sam chimed in, looking toward Sherlock. He didn't say a word, he just stood in the corner, brooding, knowing what was coming next.

“What's the price?” John asked, suddenly looking concerned. No one answered. “What's the bloody price?”

“The demon brought me back to life, but in return gave Sherlock twelve years to live. After that, the hell hounds will come for him and drag him to hell.” Molly answered. She knew the consequences of the deal too well. She thought about what Sherlock had done for her every day, unable to understand why he would want to sacrifice himself for her when he hadn't shown any affection for her at all before that day. The fact that she had been the reason that Sherlock would be sent to an early grave plagued her thoughts every day. No, every waking moment, and sometimes in her dreams.

“You're kidding.” John said, mouth hanging open at the news.

“I'm afraid not.” Sherlock answered in a low tone.

“How could you do that? Are you completely mad?”

“I do a great many things that I do not completely understand.” Sherlock answered. Molly had hoped that he might give some insight into his motives for making the deal, but she should have known he would give a vague answer, just like any other time he was asked about something he was uncomfortable talking about.

“You sacrificed yourself for her and she chose another man.” John said, the anger rising within him. He was speaking as if Molly wasn't even in the room, likely too furious to even look at her. She knew that the decision she made two years ago wouldn't be an easy one for her or Sherlock. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, and she definitely hadn't wanted him to be damned for the rest of eternity, but it wasn't like she could have stopped him. She was dead, and Sherlock had thought it necessary to bring her back, for whatever reason. She'd made the decision to stay with Sam before Sherlock did what he did.

“Molly is free to make her own choices, and I wasn't exactly open to what she wanted before, it was only natural that she chose someone that would return her affections. I don't hold that against her. I could never.” Sherlock said, trying to calm his irate friend. However, his words weren't doing much to keep John's anger at bay.

“That's not the bloody point. You sacrificed yourself for her, cut your life down to twelve years, and she still didn't see the need to come back with you.” John said, then turned to look at Molly. She hadn't seen John this angry before, but seeing it was a bit terrifying. He had the most sinister smile on his face, as if it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from lashing out and hurting someone. “If that isn't a confession of love, I don't know what is. How could you not see that, Molly?”

“I...it was too late, John.” Molly said in a small voice, not able to look at him directly. “I'd already made up my mind by then. I will always be grateful to Sherlock for saving me. I wish he hadn't. You don't understand how it feels. Knowing that someone you care about sacrificed everything for you.”

“Oh, yes, you're the victim here Molly!” John yelled.

“That's enough!” Dean yelled back, stepping between the two of them. “I know all of this is hard to handle, but you're gonna have to suck it up and put your big boy pants on. I thought you were a soldier? Don't you understand the meaning of sacrifice? Didn't you do things while you were at war that you wish you didn't have to do? I'm sure Sherlock didn't want to sacrifice whatever remaining life he had, but he did it because he knew that Molly needed to be here. My guess is, he would do the same thing for you, if it came down to it. Now suck it up, and stop blaming Molly for something she had no control over!”

“You don't know anything about me.” John said through gritted teeth. “I'm not blaming Molly for what Sherlock did, I'm blaming her for being too much of a cunt to make right by him.”

Molly gasped at John's statement, and before she knew it, Dean threw a punch and hit John square in the nose. He flew back, stumbling against a chair, but recovered quickly and lunged himself back toward Dean. Sam pushed Molly behind him and, with the help of Sherlock, was able to restrain the two men and keep them from annihilating each other.

“If you say one more thing about Molly, I swear I'll kill you.” Dean threatened as he struggled against Sam's restraints. Sherlock hadn't held on to John for much longer after he managed to wrench him away from Dean, but he still stood in the way, ready to stop another fight from erupting.

“I'd like to see you try.” John said, wiping a bit of blood from his nose.

“That's quite enough.” Sherlock said suddenly, a stern expression on his face. “I don't have any negative feelings toward Molly for her decision, John. You seem to feel like she's done something wrong, and while I don't understand that, I think that's probably just an excuse for the real reason that you're angry.”

“What the hell are you talking about now, Sherlock?” John asked, still breathing heavily from his exertions.

“You are angry because you know that what they're saying is true, and you don't want to believe it because that means that in ten years you'll lose the only friend you've managed to acquire after coming back from your deployment.” Sherlock looked down for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to say next. “I can understand your feelings, because I had similar ones while we were in America. Molly is one of the only friends I have ever had the good fortune to acquire, and while I don't understand why anyone feels the need to put up with my absurd behavior, she never gave up on me. I'm thankful for that, just like I'm thankful for your loyal and steadfast friendship. However, I came to realize that I wasn't losing Molly's friendship because she had decided to stay in America. Yes, I confess, I knew that Molly had stronger feelings for me than friendship, but that wasn't something that I was willing to give. I have a dangerous job, and I didn't want to put Molly in danger. Although, it seems I wasn't able to stop her from putting herself in danger, because she ended up marrying a monster hunter.”

“What? I...how did you...?” Molly stammered. She thought that she had been able to hide the fact that she and Sam had gotten married, but it seemed Sherlock was just as sharp as ever.

“Even in my inebriated state I noticed the matching rings the two of you wore. Both made of silver, both on the left ring finger. Dean wears a silver ring as well, but on his middle finger instead. It was the only conclusion I could draw that didn't have anything to do with your profession.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

“No need to apologize, I'm very happy that you've found the happiness you were looking for, even if I'm not the one you found it with.” Sherlock said with a sad smile. “Please, put your rings back on, I know how important they must be to the two of you.”

Molly did as she was told and dug the box back out of her duffel bag, retrieved the rings, and handed Sam's to him before slipping hers back onto her finger. Sherlock was right, as always, Molly felt wrong without her ring in place. To her it was more than a symbol that they were committed to each other, it was a symbol of everything they'd been through together. She and Sam hadn't been married for very long. In fact, they'd just made it official a few days before Sherlock had called them and asked them for help. But the rings they chose were special, a metal that would ward off most of the creatures they fought, with the Latin word _aeternam,_ which means everlasting, engraved on the inside. The rings were much more than just rings, they were a reminder that they would never be alone.

“I just thought that it might get in the way of things. I couldn't find the right time to tell you. Honestly, I didn't think you even wanted anything to do with me after you left America. I tried to call a thousand times but...I couldn't find the courage to actually do it.” Molly said, after she'd slipped her ring back in place. John was still stewing behind Sherlock and Sam had finally released his hold on Dean, but the tension in the room was still high. At the moment, though, Molly didn't care what had happened before, she only wanted to finally make sure that everything between herself and Sherlock had been set right.

“I thought it would be better if I didn't try to contact you after I returned home. I knew that you were still having a hard time with the decision you'd made, and I knew that you had the potential to be very happy where you were. I felt that a phone call from me might persuade you to come back, and I knew that wouldn't be the best thing for you. You're happy now, so I'm glad that I didn't call, but I have missed your companionship, Molly.”

“Yeah, well, if we're done growing lady parts I think we'd better get back on the case here.” Dean suddenly broke in from behind Molly, forcing her to break her concentration on Sherlock and turn to face him. “It sounds to me like this shifter has taken another victim, so he's probably running around looking like this Henry guy and no one else knows it but us.”

“Just because the shifter took him doesn't mean that he's dead. We should try to find him.” Sam chimed in, spinning his wedding ring around his finger as he spoke.

“You said this Baskerville place does genetic experiments, right?” Dean asked, directing his question toward Sherlock.

“Yes. That's the rumor, anyway.” Sherlock replied, walking over to sit on the end of the bed, feeling satisfied that John wasn't going to try and kill anyone else.

“Shifters are human. Well, kind of. They're basically genetically modified humans, they pretty much evolved a better way to stay one step ahead of their predators. So, if there's one running around over here, I'd say Baskerville would be a good place to look for it. It has to go home some time.”

“Dean, it's an army base, we can't just stroll right in.” Sam argued. Normally the Winchesters didn't have much of a problem getting wherever they needed to be, but they'd never tried to sneak into an army base before, and certainly not one outside of America.

“I've got the clearance.” Sherlock said, gaining the attention of everyone in the room, including John who decided to stop stewing in his own hate for Molly long enough to hear his friend's newest, and likely most ridiculous, plan.

“Sorry, what? Since when?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“My brother _is_ the British government. He owes me a favor, I've already called it in.”

“What favor?”

“I told Mycroft about the case, it seems he's rather interested himself, believe it or not.” Sherlock said as he began digging around in the inside pocket of his belstaff. “He's convinced that Baskerville isn't doing anything out of the ordinary, which is admittedly a more broad spectrum than most people might consider ordinary, but he agreed to give Sam and Myself the clearance to go in and have a look. Of course, we won't be able to use our real names, my brother has graciously supplied us with fake identities.” Sherlock tossed a small black card holder to Sam, who caught it expertly and opened it to see what was inside.

“MOD. Huh.” Sam said with a wide smile. “I've never had an ID for this government agency before.”

“You've never been to Britain before.” Sherlock answered.

“What about the rest of us?” Molly asked, admiring the picture that was included on the ID and wondering how exactly Sherlock had gotten it.

“While we're distracting the security staff at the front gate, the three of you will be gaining access to the base by other means. You'll need to get in and get all the information you can as quickly as possible. Do you think you can manage?”

“Why on Earth do you think I would agree to any of this?” John asked, speaking up again.

“Because, regardless of how you feel about the Winchesters, I know you still care about our friendship. We came here to work a case together and, as I'm sure you know, I don't just give up on any of the cases that I take. So, since this one is rather odd, we need all the help we can get. I'm sure you can find it in your heart to forgive Molly, because I'm asking you to forgive her. No good will come from you throwing punches at the boys and calling Molly every rude name you can think of. So, you're either going to help us or you're going to go back to Baker Street, or wherever it is you would like to go, and you're going to let us do the job we need to do. I trust our friendship is strong enough that you would grant me the only favor I have ever asked of you.”

“Sherlock, I can't forgive her. You're going to suffer because of her. If all this is true about what you did, and about what's going to happen, you'll suffer until the end of time. How can I forgive someone for doing that to my best friend?” John asked. His anger had given way to sadness now.

“It was my decision, not hers. She didn't ask me to do anything for her, but Molly has a greater purpose in life than I do. The only reason most people tolerate me is because of my intelligence. Molly is loved by so many people. The world will not miss me, but her...” Sherlock looked away from John and smiled at Molly. “She would be sorely missed. You'll just have to find it in your heart to forgive her. I've got ten years until the hounds come for me, and I assure you, they will be well spent. Please, do this for me, John. If you care so much about my well being and happiness, help me with this case. I can't do it alone.”

“Fine.” John answered reluctantly, then looked at Molly, all of the rage had gone from his eyes and left the faintest hint of tears in its wake. “I'm sorry, Molly.”

Molly nodded toward John and gave him a small smile, but she knew that things weren't settled between them. The only reason John was agreeing to any of this was to make Sherlock happy, to make every remaining second of his life the best it could be. Deep down, he still hated her for what Sherlock had done to save her, and she had the feeling that nothing could repair that damage.

“Let's get this show on the road.” Dean said, taking the guns out of a duffel bag that he'd brought into the room upon arrival and handing one to every person. “Silver bullets in every one of them. Six a piece, one full mag, that's all I had time to make. Make them count.”

 

oOo

 

“Ah, an inspection?” The security guard questioned as Sherlock and Sam sat patiently in the car, waiting for the gate in front of them to open. “We don't usually get those here.”

“Yes, well, today's the day.” Sherlock answered in a flippant tone.

“May I see your IDs one more time?” The guard asked again, holding out his hand for the two fake IDs. They were handed over and he stared at them for a long time before he finally handed them back and went into his small booth to open the gate and allow them entry into Baskerville. Sherlock parked the car immediately and they both exited. Sam was dressed in one of the usual suits he wore when he posed as a government agent, and Sherlock was dressed as he always was. The two of them looked convincing enough. The only thing Sherlock was worried about was Sam's accent. He didn't sound like he belonged, by any means.

“If at all possible, try not to speak.” He said, not thinking about how rude that might have sounded before he spoke. “It's just, you don't exactly sound like you're from around here. They don't let just any person be a government agent, no matter what my brother might say. And especially not an American.”

“I'll try my best.” Sam said in an almost flawless accent, with a broad smile on his face. Sherlock stopped walking and looked at him, a bit shocked at what he'd heard.

“Oh, I've underestimated you.” Sherlock replied with a smile. “It's a bit off, but I suppose you could pass as Northern. Shall we?”

“Let's.” Sam answered. It only took a swipe of their IDs to get into the building where a tall, middle aged man with graying hair greeted them.

“Good afternoon,” He said with a smile, hands clasped behind his back. “I understand you two gentlemen have come to perform an inspection?”

“Yes. I know it's not customary for this particular base, but it does have to be done some time. Even the most secretive of army bases still have to be inspected. Just to make sure everything is in order. You understand.” Sherlock replied, sweeping past the man-whose name appeared to be Matthew Tate, judging by his name tag- and walking down the hall and into the first lab he could find. Sam followed closely behind him, making sure to keep his eyes peeled for anything suspicious.

“What exactly are you looking for?” The man that had greeted them asked as he caught up to them. The room they had entered was full of cages containing various animals, most likely used for testing. Not something Sherlock necessarily condoned, but he supposed he would have to get past that for the moment. He peered in at a white rabbit and had to stop his lips from curling into a smile. _Hello Bluebell_. He thought as he regarded Matthew.

“As I said, just making sure everything is in order. There are regulations for the kind of testing you do here.”

“And they needed to send two inspectors?”

“I'm in training.” Sam spoke up as the man looked at him. “Smith here is a senior officer, I've been assigned to him to learn the ropes. I hope it's not an issue.”

“No, no, of course not.” Matthew said with a wary smile. “But I will have to supervise you. It's customary.”

“Of course.” Sherlock answered before finishing his inspection of the room. “Take me to all of the labs, please. They'll all need to be inspected.”

“All of them, sir?” Matthew asked, confused.

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, it's just that...there are over thirty floors in the building. Under ground, that is. It'll take hours for the two of you to inspect them all.” Matthew said hesitantly. Sherlock and Sam looked at each other briefly before Sherlock spoke again.

“Better just take us to the most important ones, then.”

 

oOo

 

Molly, Dean, and John had made it into the fenced in area of Baskerville just before Sherlock and Sam pulled away from the gate. The next task was getting inside the actual building. Dean and Molly both knew how to pick locks, but it seemed that the locks on this building were managed by card readers instead of conventionally. Luckily for them, Sherlock had given them an ID that belonged to Mycroft. He said he'd nicked it when Mycroft was being particularly annoying, and Molly could believe it, but she felt uneasy about the whole thing.

Dean lead the way to a side door, checking for any security guards that might be lurking around the corners. When he nodded to Molly to tell her that the coast was clear, she took the ID card out of her pocket and swiped it quickly, gaining access to the inside of the building. The three of them rushed in on high alert, checking every room and corner before they went past.

“What now?” John asked quietly, wondering if he should remove his gun from his waistband, just to be sure he was ready.

“Disguises.” Molly answered, ducking into a room that looked like a supply closet. Lab coats and other various items hung on the walls and sat on shelves. They all took a lab coat and exited, feeling more confident that they would blend in. Inside the building looked like any other testing site. The walls, floors and ceilings were all white, fluorescent lighting making the interior look bright and giving a feeling of sterility. A long hallways stretched in front of them, doors running down each side. They only had to look into a few of the rooms to realize what was going on here. Animal testing, and lots of it, judging by the number of cages they saw as they passed each room. Some large enough to hold large breed dogs and monkeys, some small- probably used for rats and other smaller creatures.

“This makes my skin crawl.” Dean said quietly to Molly as they passed a few more rooms, examining what was going on inside of them as they passed.

“Dean, I never thought you would be upset by something like this. Animal lover, are we?” Molly asked, confidently poking fun at her brother-in-law.

“Shut up.” Dean said with a scowl, but Molly knew he was only trying to change the subject.

“What now?” John asked from behind the two of them, still walking down the long corridor. Molly stopped at the door of the very last lab, peering inside. It looked to be quite a bit larger than the rest of the labs, and there were cages inside big enough to hold animals much larger than dogs.

“I think we should take a closer look in here. Doesn't seem like anyone is home.” She answered, testing the door handle. It opened without any difficulty and the three of them ducked inside.

“What do you think they keep in these things?” Dean asked as he walked up to a cage that was much taller than he was, and four times as wide.

“Something I'm guessing we don't want to run in to.”

“Do you think the...the shape shifter is here, at Baskerville?” John asked, still unsure if he actually believed everything that was happening.

“Not if it's wearing Henry's skin. I doubt Henry has the clearance to get into a place like this, but this may have been where the shifter was created. Maybe a genetic experiment gone wrong.” Molly said, looking toward Dean.

“They go messing with the wrong genomes, change something they shouldn't and wind up with a shifter.” Dean said, shifting his eyes and raising an eyebrow, as if to consider the possibility of Molly's proposal. “Maybe.”

“So he could be here?” John asked again.

“Yes. He might not be Henry anymore, but he could be here. These things have to shed their skin every time they change, so if that happened, we should find a pile of goo laying around somewhere.” Dean answered, moving on from the cage to look around the rest of the room.

“How do you think Sherlock and Sam are doing?” Molly asked, examining a beaker that had been left on the counter.

“Let's hope they're getting further than we are, because right now we have diddly squat.”

 

oOo

 

“This is the fifteenth underground level. The experiments that are considered harmful are kept here.” Matthew explained as the door to the lift opened and he lead the way down a long corridor. “As I'm sure you can imagine, you won't be allowed to enter any of the rooms here, as the things inside are potentially hazardous to your health.”

“How are they harmful?” Sam asked, peering into a room to see a man in a lab coat injecting a rat with some kind of solution from a syringe.

“They sometimes tend to get a bit violent. I assure you, they're kept safe, and away from everyone they might harm. It's just, it would be a liability to allow people that haven't been properly trained into that lab.”

“Have any of the animals ever escaped this lab?” Sherlock asked, eying the rat that had just been injected. No visible signs of any immediate changes in temperament. Perhaps this was one of the successes.

“No sir, not that I'm aware of.” Matthew answered.

“You know that nothing has escaped or you _think_ nothing has escaped?”

“I...I only meant...no. Nothing has ever escaped the lab on this floor.”

“What about any other floors?”

“N-no.”

“No, or _not that you're aware of?”_

“We're going to need to see your security cameras.” Sam said. He was sure that Sherlock had scared the man enough to give them anything they wanted. The man nodded stiffly and started walking back to the lift with a brisk pace. Sherlock and Sam followed him, easily matching his pace with their long strides. Once back in the lift, the man seemed even more fidgety than he had been before. Perhaps feeling trapped with two, much larger, men made him uneasy, but Sam had been around enough guilty people to know the difference. He would have to tell Sherlock as soon as they got a moment of privacy. The lift stopped and Matthew hurried out and down the hall, stopping at the second door on the right and briskly opening it. Sherlock and Sam walked inside to find a wall of monitors with a desk in front of them. Each monitor showed a different part of the army base.

“This is it.” Matthew said, his eyes darting around the room in a nervous way.

“Thank you, Mr. Tate.” Sherlock said as he sat down in a chair that was sitting at the desk. “We'll be here for a while. I'm sure you have some other job to do here, so you can get back to it. We'll just be observing things, for now.”

“Sir, I don't know if that's wise...”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said again, turning toward the monitors and waving Matthew away. He left with only a few more moments hesitation, closing the door quickly behind him.

“He's nervous.” Sam said at the first chance he got.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, steepling his hands under his chin and staring at the monitors.

“I think he knows something.”

“Perhaps. Time will tell.” Sherlock said, spinning around to look at Sam. “Why are we watching the monitors, exactly?”

“Shifters react to cameras strangely. Their eyes will give off a shine, like a deer caught in headlights. If you see that on one of these monitors, we'll know who our shifter is.” Sam explained, taking a seat beside Sherlock and staring intently at the monitors.

“I have the feeling Mr. Tate won't be leaving us alone in here for too long if he has any idea what's going on here.”

“No.” Sam said, combing his hand through his hair and focusing on the monitors again. “We'll just have to make sure we don't miss anything while we're here.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Molly and her two followers walked down the hall until they found a lift, and curiosity got the best of them.

“We should probably check out some of the other floors.” Dean said, eying the button to call the lift to their floor.

“We don't want to run the risk of running into Sherlock and Sam. Who knows where they are right now. Who knows if there's any other security inside the building. There could be a whole squad of armed guards following Sherlock and Sam around, and we would never know it. What do you think would happen if we ran into them? I'm pretty sure the security guards would recognize everyone that actually works here.” Molly said, her hands on her hips. She was running out of ideas on what to do. The best thing to do would be to find a surveillance room. She'd noticed cameras in almost every lab and hallway they'd been in so far, along with the outside of the building. If they had any chance of finding the shape shifter, it would be with a camera. But where would they find the surveillance room? Molly had no idea where to go in the large building, and she was fairly certain Dean and John were just as lost.

“What, then?” Dean asked again, exasperated.

“I don't really want to leave this floor, it would be pretty risky. Let's look for a surveillance room. Somewhere where we can look at all the feeds of these cameras that they've put up all around the building.”

“That would be a good way to find the son of a bitch.”

“Sorry, how would a surveillance room help?” John chimed in, feeling completely lost yet again. That was becoming a theme in his life recently.

“Their eyes reflect when they're shown on camera. We'll be able to tell exactly who it is if we can get somewhere to monitor the building.” Molly answered. “Let's spread out. We have more of a chance of finding it if we're not all searching the same places at the same time. Watch out for security. Call if you need anything.”

“Molly, can I stay with you?” John asked, looking a bit scared. “It's just, if I run into this thing on my own...”

“Of course, John. I'm sure you're more than capable, but if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I'll take the elevator, see what I can find on a different floor. Be careful out there. Both of you.” Dean said as he called the lift to his floor and entered.

“You as well.” Molly said as the doors closed on Dean and she was left with John. She couldn't help but feel more than a bit awkward being alone with him. He'd been less than friendly toward her ever since she arrived with Sam and Dean, and his attitude had only seemed to change a small amount once they decided they would go to investigate at Baskerville. She couldn't help but feel like something else was amiss with her former friend, and she had the feeling that Sherlock saw it too.

“Let's take the stairs to the next floor down and see what we can find there.” She suggested, finding a door marked as the stairwell. John simply nodded and followed behind her.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock and Sam had been staring at the monitors for well over half an hour to no avail. The only things they seemed to see were regular employees of Baskerville going about their daily duties. They had seen two rather frisky employees steal into a broom closet and come out fifteen minutes later looking rather satisfied, but that was the only eventful thing they'd witnessed so far. Sam perked up a bit when he saw Dean wondering down a hallway by himself.

“I thought Molly and John were supposed to stay with Dean?” He said, getting Sherlock's attention.

“It seems your brother has decided to break off from the rest of the group. No glowing eyes. He's not our culprit.” Sherlock answered, turning back to monitor the five screens he'd specified for himself.

“We aren't getting anywhere with this. I'm starting to think that maybe the shifter isn't here.”

“You may be right.” Sherlock answered just as Sam saw his brother duck into a room. He followed him on the several monitors that were in front of him and noticed that he was checking a darkened lab. Dean immediately brandished his firearm, ready for anything that might come at him, when Sam saw him stop and look down at the ground. Dean looked disgusted for a moment before bending down to investigate something that he'd stepped in.

“Dean found its skin.” Sam said in a sudden epiphany.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked, only taking his eyes off of his screens for a moment to see what Sam was talking about.

“Shifters have to shed their skin periodically. Mostly when they're changing form, but not always. Dean just found some skin. Which means...”

“The shifter is here, or has been here recently.” Sherlock finished Sam's sentence with ease. Sam couldn't help but think that Sherlock would make an excellent hunter, but he knew that wasn't the life the detective would want.

“Keep watching the monitors. If it's still here, we'll find it.”

 

oOo

 

“Agh!” Dean exclaimed to himself as soon as he heard the tell tale squish of stepping in something slimy. “You'd think a top secret government research facility would be better at cleaning house.”

He looked down, holding his gun at the ready, to try and figure out what exactly it was he had stepped in when he realized that he already knew. Shifter skin, it should have been obvious. He bent down to examine it, just to be sure, but there really wasn't any mistaking it at this point. He found a rug and wiped the bottom of his boot off on it before continuing his investigation of the lab he'd found. At least now he knew for a fact that the shifter was somewhere in the building, and possibly in the same room with him. He was on high alert, nothing would get past him while he was focused on what it was he was hunting. Sam would probably make fun of him if he ever admitted it, but he got this sense of hyper focus when he was hunting something alone. Almost like a sixth sense, and that reference would definitely make Sam chuckle.

“Come out you slimy son of a bitch.” Dean whispered, as if he didn't really want the shifter to hear him if it was in the same room at the moment. “You're not killing anyone else.”

He walked around a row of stainless steel tables loaded down with beakers and other scientific equipment. He had the feeling someone like Sherlock would have a field day in here, but he didn't have the slightest clue of what any of the stuff was used for. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed, but that didn't mean much. Shifters usually only got destructive if they were fighting something else. It probably only came in this lab to shed its skin and turn into someone else. He was looking at a particularly odd shaped beaker when he heard a rustling further into the lab and to the left. There were large curtains hanging in the back of the room, and Dean could hear something coming from behind them. He raised his gun up, ready to shoot anything that might run out to attack him, and made his way closer.

He heard the noise again, like something was struggling to get free of binds, and carefully pushed his way past the first white curtain. The lab was dark, but he wouldn't dare take out his flashlight now, it would give away his position. No, he would just have to wing this one. Being a hunter, he had kind of gotten used to seeing in dimly lit areas. He still couldn't completely see in the dark, but he had enough vision to know if something was getting ready to attack him.

He pushed past another curtain and heard the noise again, louder this time. He was getting closer. Whatever it was, it was just behind the next curtain. It sounded like it was still restrained, but trying very hard to break loose. He quickly whipped the curtain out of the way and was ready to pull the trigger when he saw what exactly it was that he'd been hunting. A man sat in a large cage, although not really large enough for a man. His arms were bound behind his back, a gag in his mouth. He tried to scream when he saw Dean push his way past the curtain, gun drawn and pointed directly at him, but nothing came out.

“Easy, I'm here to help.” Dean said, putting his gun away and pulling out a lock pick kit that he always carried with him. It took a moment, but he picked the lock to the cage and took the gag out of the man's mouth. “What's your name?”

“Henry. Henry Knight.” The man replied as Dean untied his hands.

“Well, we've been looking for you, Henry. I'm working with Sherlock Holmes, trying to solve this case about your dad. How'd you get here?”

“The man that works with Sherlock. John. He brought me here. I thought I could trust him, but he said if I didn't come with him, he would kill me.” Henry explained, his eyes filling with tears at the memory of his abduction. “When I didn't want to come, he drugged me. Brought me here in the middle of the night and locked me up. No one even noticed that I was here.”

Dean looked confused for a moment, but everything started to fall into place as he thought about it. John had a sudden change of attitude when they got to Baskerville. He was more willing to help out than he had been before. It was almost as if a switch had flipped in his head. No one ever changed their mind that easily. Not when confronted with the supernatural. Dean pulled out his phone and was just about to dial Sam's number when his brother called him.

“Sam.” Dean said, getting ready to launch into an explanation of what he'd just realized.

“Dean, the shifter is John. He's got Molly.” Sam said frantically. Dean's attitude changed as soon as he heard that news.

“Yeah, I found Henry. He said John kidnapped him last night. Talk to Sherlock, ask him where John has been. Meet me on the fifth floor, second lab on the right.”

“I'm sending Sherlock down to meet you. I know where John and Molly are, I have to go and help her, it's not looking good.”

“Where are you?” Dean asked, knowing that his brother was in a panic.

“We're in the surveillance room. I saw John's eyes on the camera. He and Molly are on the second floor, lab 219. He's going to kill her, Dean. I have to go.” Sam explained, then hung up before Dean could protest.

“Damn it.” Dean said, walking toward the door.

“W-what's going on?” Henry asked, voice trembling with terror.

“The damn thing has Molly. We have to go help her. Listen, you can stay here or come with me, but stay out of the way, whatever you do.”

“What do you mean _shifter_?” Henry asked again, warily exiting the cage as Dean stopped in his tracks.

“You're the one that thought something supernatural was happening here, right? Well, surprise, there is. It's just not what you thought it was. There's a shape shifter taking the form of different people and killing others. The John you saw wasn't actually John, which means the shifter has him somewhere, or he's dead. We need to find him, and to do that we need to find the shifter. So, are you coming or are you staying here?” Dean asked, out of patience.

“I'm not staying here by myself! What if it comes back?”

“We'll, if you come with me we're going to find it, so either way you're seeing it again. I don't have time for this. Do what you want.” Dean said, storming out of the room. It was only a moment before he heard the door open and close again and Henry was right at his side. They arrived at the lift just in time for the doors to open and reveal Sherlock standing there.

“Dean, I see you've found Henry. Hello Henry.” Sherlock said, as if nothing that was going on was phasing him in the slightest.

“Mr. Holmes.” Henry said in greeting as he followed Dean into the lift. They went to the floor Molly was being held on and exited to find a hallway full of Baskerville employees.

“I wasn't really expecting to find this.” Dean said as he froze in the lift, waiting to see what Sherlock thought they should do.

“I'm posing as a government agent, just follow me. Pretend that you're supervising me. We'll get to the room Molly is being held in without trouble.” Sherlock answered, then looked at Henry. “I'm not sure how to explain you. You'll have to hide yourself somewhere else.”

“But, Mr. Holmes...” Henry protested, but stopped after Sherlock gave him a stern look. Sherlock and Dean exited the lift and Henry stayed in, likely to go find a broom closet to hide in until further notice. The two men got a few strange looks as they walked through the hallway full of scientists, but no one seemed to think anything suspicious of them as they made their way to the end of the hallway. Room 219 was abandoned, or it looked that way from the outside, anyway. Sherlock looked around to make sure no one was watching, then opened the door and went in, followed closely by Dean.

“Sam should be here by now.” Dean said, looking around the darkened room. Sherlock pulled out a pocket flashlight, along with the gun he had been given, and started sweeping the room. Dean mimicked his movements, going the opposite way in order to cover more ground.

“Molly,” Dean whispered, trying his hardest to find her and avoid getting caught in the process. “Molly, Sam. Where are you, damn it?”

“Dean, over here.” Sherlock's voice called from the other side of the room. Dean followed it, around desks and lab tables and other equipment and found Molly and Sam strapped to chairs, back to back. Molly was unconscious, but Sam was still alert. They were both gagged, unable to have alerted Dean and Sherlock to their location. Dean pulled the gag from his brother's mouth.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, trying to look back at Molly while Sherlock worked on his binds. Dean pressed his fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse.

“She's alive, but she's not doing too hot. Her pulse is weak. We need to get her out of here.” He replied, knowing that it wouldn't be an easy task. He untied her and took the gag away from her mouth and she never woke through all of his jostling. Molly had deep cuts up and down her arms, on her chest, her face, her legs. Dean couldn't see a single patch of skin that hadn't bee mutilated in some way. He hoisted her up into his arms, knowing that Sam wouldn't be able to support her weight through his own injuries. He didn't look too bad, but he had a huge gash on his head and was holding his arm as if it was paining him.

“Where's John?” Sherlock asked, looking around the empty and dark lab.

“I don't know. I was hurrying down here, I got to the door and saw Molly, I rushed in and then...everything just went dark. I never saw him, but I'm sure he hasn't gone far.” Sam explained as he stepped in a patch of goo that could have only been the skin the shape shifter had shed in an effort to change his appearance again.

“Great. Sherlock, take Molly.” Dean said, noting what Sam had stepped in and gently handing Molly over. “Give me your hand, Sam.”

“Why?” Sam asked, confused. Dean pulled a knife from his jacket and held it up, raising an eyebrow.

“Silver. We need to make sure you and Molly are still yourselves. Now, give me your hand.” Dean insisted. Sam did as he was told and Dean made a small cut across his brother's palm. When nothing happened, he went to Molly.

“You can't hurt her any more than she already is.” Sherlock said, concerned for Molly's well being. She looked like death, and another cut would surely not benefit her condition.

“Do you wanna possibly take a shifter back to the hotel?” Dean asked, an irritated tone to his voice.

“No.” Sherlock replied, and stopped his protests so that Dean could do what he needed to do. He went through the motions again and, again, nothing happened.

“Alright, let's get the hell out of dodge.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Sam asked, his gaze lingering on Molly. “There are people just outside the door. I doubt we're gonna be able to explain why we're carrying a bloody civilian out of the lab.”

“We'll have to sneak past them.” Sherlock answered, still holding Molly close to his chest.

“How, exactly?” Dean asked. “They're everywhere, and you and Sam are the only ones that are actually supposed to be here.”

Sherlock walked over to Dean and handed Molly over to him, then began to pace the lab, trying to think of a solution to their problem. Time was running short, the shifter could be back at any moment. As far as he knew, it could still be in the room somewhere. He glanced at the walls, windows weren't an option, they were underground after all. However, he did spot a small red lever on the wall near the door to the hallway that held promise. It was a fire alarm. That would surely clear the hallway and the rest of the building long enough for them to get Molly out and back to safety.

“There.” He said, walking toward the door and gesturing to the fire alarm. “I'll pull the alarm. Dean, you can take Molly out the way you came, meet us where we dropped you off when we started this endeavor. Sam and I will go to get the car, tell everyone the inspection is complete, and be out of harm's way in a matter of moments.”

“Sounds like the best shot we've got.” Dean said, looking at Sam for approval. Sam nodded and Sherlock smiled. “What about Henry?”

“Right, Henry. I'll look for him on the way out, but if we can't find him we'll have to go without him. As I understand, he has a relative that is an employee here at Baskerville, he should be fine here on his own if someone finds him.” He said. The Winchesters nodded and, without any more hesitation, Sherlock pulled the lever, then ducked out of the way of prying eyes. They cautiously watched as the employees in the hallway made their way to the stairwell at the end of the hall and slowly filed out. They made their move only seconds after the last person left the corridor, cautiously moving to the door and checking corners before pushing through the door and into the stairwell. They all climbed the stairs to the ground floor, being sure to check every exit they passed.

“This is where we part ways, for the moment. You'll be fine to get Molly back to where you need to be?” Sherlock asked as they exited the stairwell.

“Yeah, I've got it under control. Hurry up, will you?” Dean said, turning to head to the exit.

“We'll meet you in five minutes. Any more than that and you should start walking back to the inn by yourself. Molly is the main priority, agreed?” Sherlock asked, looking at Sam.

“Yeah. Dean, make sure she's safe. We can take care of ourselves.” He answered. Dean nodded and made his way out the door just as cautiously as before. He was a bit surprised at how smoothly their escape plan had been going. He didn't really expect the shifter to let them leave the building, but then again, the shifter probably didn't expect a fire drill. He made his way out of the compound and into the woods where he had snuck in with Molly and John, and couldn't help but wonder what had become of the _real_ John Watson. They would worry about that once they were all safely back at the inn, though. Surely Molly would have some kind of information to give them. Maybe she was able to squeeze something out of the shifter before she blacked out. He suddenly noticed her starting to blink her eyes open.

“Dean.” She said, a certain note of terror in her voice.

“I've got you Molls, don't worry.” He reassured her as he gently put her down to lean against a tree.

“It's John, the shifter is John.” She said weakly, looking back toward the army base they'd just left.

“I know, we've got it under control. I found Henry, and Sam and Sherlock are on their way out of Baskerville. We have to worry about you before we can go to get John. Sherlock is driving around to meet us now. If they're not here in five minutes we have to go back to the inn by ourselves.” Dean explained, checking over Molly's injuries again. “What the hell happened to you, Molly?”

“When we split up, John and I went down a floor to have a look at the labs there. As soon as we got into one of the rooms he overpowered me. I thought he was going to shoot me, but apparently shifters are uncomfortable even handling a weapon with silver bullets already loaded. Instead he just used a knife.” Molly explained as Dean pulled out a handkerchief and started to gently dab at the still-bleeding wounds that covered her body.

“What was he trying to do?”

“He wanted information, about why we were here, what we were trying to do. He assured me that we wouldn't succeed, but I didn't tell him anything.”

“And that's why you're in such bad shape, he was torturing you.” Dean said, putting all the pieces together. “Why did he let you live?”

“Sam came in at just the right time. The shifter left me in the chair he had me in and went to take care of him. I tried to warn him, but the shifter gagged me before I could say anything. I blacked out because of the blood loss. So Sam's okay?”

“Yeah, he's a little beat up, but he's fine.” Dean stopped trying to clean Molly up and put his handkerchief away. “You're gonna need stitches. Sherlock and Sam aren't here yet, so we'd better start walking. I'll take care of you once we get back.”

“I...I don't think I can walk.” Molly said, slightly embarrassed by her current state. She'd learned that weakness doesn't get you far in the world of a hunter, and had learned to be ashamed of it over the two years she'd been with the Winchesters. Even worse than that, she seemed to always be the one getting captured, and that was something that constantly caused them trouble.

“Don't sweat it Molly, I've got you.” Dean said with a reassuring smile as he gingerly scooped her into his arms and started walking toward the inn.

 

oOo

 

Sam woke up in a strange building. The last thing he remembered he was leaving Baskerville with Sherlock. They'd gotten in the car to go and pick Dean and Molly up, but that was the last thing he remembered. When he finally regained full consciousness again he realized that his hands and feet were bound and he was sitting in a small folding chair in the middle of what looked like a warehouse. It only took him a moment to realize that he wasn't alone. John, Henry, and Sherlock were all tied up in a similar fashion, sitting in chairs in a circle in the middle of the room. Sherlock and John looked to be alive, but he couldn't say as much for Henry.

“Sherlock.” He whispered, not knowing if they had company somewhere in the building. Sherlock's head swayed for a moment, then he came to, squinting his eyes against the pain that must be radiating from the gash on the side of his head.

“Sam?” Sherlock asked, looking in Sam's direction, then looking around the room to see John and Henry. John's head was hanging, his chin to his chest, but he could see the steady rise and fall that meant he was breathing. Henry, however, looked as if all the blood had been drained from his body. His head hung in the same fashion as John's, but he looked stiff and pale. He'd been dead for at least a day. “What's going on?”

“Pretty sure the shifter caught us somehow. It's probably going after Dean and Molly next. We have to find some way to get out of here.”

“Don't you have some...some secret weapon tucked in your sleeve that you can use to cut yourself free?” Sherlock asked in exasperation.

“Pretty sure the shifter took all my weapons when he whacked me over the head to bring me here. Do you recognize this place?”

“No, but I could most likely find the way back to the inn, if given the chance.”

“We've gotta find a way out of here before it gets back. Dean won't have any idea where to find us, and Molly is hurt. He won't leave her behind.”

“Molly might know the area. It would be in Dean's best interest to bring her along.” Sherlock said, still scanning the area, trying to find any clue as to where they might be.

“No. I don't want her coming here, not in the condition she's in.” Sam said with a stern voice. “You saw how badly she was injured, she won't survive another encounter with this thing.”

“I'm not sure we'll have much of a say in the matter.” Sherlock said, then turned his attention toward John. “We should try to wake him.”

“John.” Sam said, but he got no reply. He was sitting just close enough to stretch his legs out and kick him, which worked wonderfully, although somewhat terrifyingly for John. His eyes snapped open and he jumped in his chair, his breathing heavy, as if he remembered what was happening before he'd blacked out.

“John, it's us.” Sherlock said, drawing his friend's attention over to him. John blinked in confusion and then looked back to Sam, then noticed Henry and took a deep breath.

“Sherlock? What the hell happened?” John asked, looking at Sam with a confused expression. “Who's that?”

“What do you mean? It's Sam. The two of you met at the inn, don't you remember?” Sherlock asked, confused.

“I...Sherlock, I haven't been at the inn since the night we got back from the hollow.”

“Oh my God.” Sam said, shaking his head. “How did we miss that?”

“Miss what? What is he talking about, Sherlock?” John asked, even more confused than before.

“Sherlock, the person we thought was John the whole time was actually the shifter. He went to Baskerville with us. He knew the whole plan! Now he's probably on his way back to the inn to find Dean and Molly. It must have gotten to John while you were passed out at the bar the night you called us for help.”

“We need to go.” Sherlock said, determination suddenly taking over his voice. “John, you were in the army, use some kind of army trick to get yourself free of your binds and help us.”

“I don't have any army tricks, Sherlock.” John said, shaking his head, then changed the subject. “You mean Molly is back? What made her come back here all of a sudden?”

“I did.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I called her, about the case. I _knew_ it was something supernatural, I told you it was and you chose not to believe me. Molly has been traveling with Sam, that's this gentleman, and his brother Dean. Well, I suppose she's been doing more than traveling, as she married Sam while she was away. They hunt supernatural creatures, much like we hunt criminals.” Sherlock said, then stopped to focus on the task at hand. “John, I really don't have time to tell you the whole story now, we need to get back to the inn. Molly and Dean are in danger.” Sam managed to slip a hand out of his binds while Sherlock was explaining, almost dislocating his wrist in the process, then got to work on freeing his feet.

“This is who you were with while you were in America? Monster hunters? How did they _ever_ convince you that any of this was real?” John asked as Sam came over to release him.

“Trust me, it took a while.” Sam said, finishing up and going over to free Sherlock.

“Do you know where we are, John?” Sherlock asked, rising from his chair and rubbing his wrists to soothe the aching the ropes left behind.

“Not far from the inn. It'll take a while to walk there.” John answered.

“We don't have time!”

“I'll call Dean, see if I can't warn him what's happening.” Sam said, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing Dean's number. It rang out, going to Dean's voice mail, which didn't help Sam's panic. The group headed outside to find an old car, and not much else. The place was in the middle of nowhere, nothing but a dirt road leading up to it. Sam decided to try his luck and see if the car would start.

“If we follow that road it should take us somewhere where I'll know how to get us back to the inn.” Sherlock said, gesturing toward the road. About the time Sherlock finished his sentence, Sam had successfully hot wired the old car and got it running well enough to take them where they needed to go.

“We don't have weapons anymore.” Sam said, pointing out the obvious. “We'll need to find something silver to take this thing out.”

“I'm sure we can find something on the way. John, get in the car.” Sherlock demanded, getting into the front seat. John followed and Sam pulled away from the warehouse, driving as fast as the junked car would go. He'd almost lost Molly once before, and he'd only gotten her back because of what Sherlock had done for her. If he could help it, nothing like that would happen again. He pushed the pedal completely to the floor, knowing that every second would count. If this monster was going to take Molly, it would have to go through him first.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had just gotten Molly back to the inn when he heard a knock at the door. He had to call a cab when Sherlock and Sam didn't show up at their designated meeting spot, and he couldn't help but be a little concerned.

“Got your gun, Molly?” He asked as he walked toward the door. She nodded and he looked through the peep hole to find Sherlock standing outside, but Sam was nowhere to be found. Dean put his gun away and opened the door. “It's about time you got here, where's Sam?”

“Sam went to follow up on a lead he got regarding John's whereabouts. He wanted me to come back and check on things here.” Sherlock answered, looking at Molly the whole time he spoke. “How are you feeling, Molly?”

“I've been much better.” Molly replied. “Is Sam okay? Are you okay?”

“I'm just fine.” He replied, taking a few steps closer to her. Dean stood behind him, looking a bit suspicious now. Something was wrong. Sherlock had always been kind of odd, but he was really starting to scare her, and Dean could sense that.

“Where did you say Sam went, again?” Dean asked, resting his hand on a silver knife he always kept at his side. He made to unbutton the sheath, but Sherlock was on him before he had the chance, wrestling him to the ground and taking the knife, and his gun, away from him. Sherlock pinned Dean to the ground with his knee and tied his hands securely with a zip tie before turning to look at Molly again.

“You're not Sherlock.” Molly said as he sauntered toward her, holding Dean's gun at his side.

“No.” He said with a devilish smirk, cocking the gun and pointing it toward her, ready to shoot at any moment.

“Leave her alone!” Dean yelled from his spot on the floor, struggling to get himself to his feet with his hands out of commission.

“Don't worry, I won't hurt her any more as long as you both cooperate.”

“What do you want from us?” Molly asked, her instincts taking over. She had to get to the bottom of what was going on here somehow. As long as the shifter thought he had the upper hand she knew she could get him to talk.

“Isn't that a simple question? I want to keep hunting here, where there's plenty of lore and rumors to keep me covered, but you lot have come to kill me, and we can't have that. So, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you all first. Don't worry, I won't hurt anyone until the others get here.” Sherlock's doppelganger said as he walked over to Dean and pulled him to his feet, then threw him onto the end of the bed with Molly.

“You mean Sam and Sherlock. The _real_ Sherlock.”

“Yes, I need to make an example of the two of you. I know Sherlock made a little deal, and I don't intend on cutting his already shortened life down even more, but he needs to know that he should leave me alone from now on. What better way to get that point across than killing the one woman that he ever had any sort of affection for and all of his friends right in front of his eyes?”

“You're a monster!” Molly yelled through gritted teeth, trying to reach for her gun.

“We can't be having that.” The shifter said, walking over and plucking the gun from Molly's waistband, aggravating her injuries in the process. She winced and drew in a breath as they started bleeding anew.

“If you think you're gonna get the jump on Sam and Sherlock, you've got another thing coming.” Dean said defiantly as he struggled against his restraints. The zip tie was too tight, cutting off the circulation to his hands, there was no way he would be able to Houdini his way out of it.

“I had heard that the Winchester's would be a difficult group to take down, but it was so easy to catch you unawares, Dean. To be completely honest, I'm rather disappointed.” The shifter said with a smirk, placing Molly's gun on the table by the window and taking a seat in one of the chairs that sat next to it.

“How do you know who we are?”

“You and your little family have quite the reputation, you know. Every _monster_ in the world knows about you and your brother, and I've already made sure that word got around about the newest addition to the family. Congratulations on your marriage, Molly. When can we expect a little bundle of joy to make an appearance?”

“Go to hell!” Molly yelled, wishing that she could do something to stop what was happening. She was too weak from her previous encounter, too injured to even stand on her own, and that was exactly what the shifter had wanted. It had been with them the whole time they'd been there. It knew all their plans, all their secrets. How could she have not seen it sooner? “You can do whatever you want with us, but just know that when Sam finds out, he'll be out for vengeance.”

“Now now, no need to be rude. I was only trying to make polite conversation.” The shifter said as Dean's phone began to ring in his pocket. He let it ring out, not able to answer with his hands bound. “It seems that brother dear is worried about you. Shall we call him back?”

“Be my guest, it'll only make him more determined to gank your ass.” Dean said with confidence. The shifter walked over and dug the phone out of Dean's pocket, then pressed the redial button and put it on speaker.

 

oOo

 

Sam's phone started to ring when they were almost back to the inn. He dug through his pockets while he drove, desperately trying to get to it before it went to voice mail. He succeeded, but only just in the knick of time, then put it on speaker phone.

“Dean, what's going on?” Sam said before he even gave his brother a chance to talk.

“Oh, Sam, wonderful to hear from you. I'm here with your brother and your lovely wife.” Sam heard Sherlock's voice over the phone and turned to the passenger's seat to make sure he was still there.

“What the hell?” John asked from the back seat, also gaping at Sherlock as he heard the familiar voice over the phone.

“Sam, don't come here, it's a trap!” Molly said in her strongest voice, which was admittedly weakening with every passing moment.

“Be quiet Molly or I shall have to kill you before they even get here, and that would spoil all the fun.” The shape shifter said, trying to quiet Molly before he proceeded. “Now, as I said, I have your brother and Molly here in Sherlock's room at the inn, when should I expect you to be here?”

“Molly, Dean, are you injured?” The real Sherlock asked from the passenger seat of the car.

“Not any more than we already were.” Dean answered, and Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“We'll be there. Don't worry.” Sam said with determination, pushing the pedal to the floor and making the car speed down the road.

“I look forward to that.” The shape shifter said, and they could practically hear the smirk in his voice. The phone went dead and Sam let it drop to the seat, digging his fingers into the steering wheel as the car barreled down the road.

“I don't have any way to make sure that the two of you are human, so I'm just going to have to trust you. As far as I know there's only one shifter here, but if either of you turn out to be one, I won't hesitate to kill you.” Sam said through gritted teeth. He only took his eyes off of the road for a moment to look at Sherlock, but it wasn't because he didn't trust him. In fact, Sam thought that he might trust Sherlock as much as he trusted his own brother, and that was saying something. To Sam, Sherlock was a brother, because of everything they'd already been through together. They'd had their rough patches, but he supposed that was part of getting to know someone. If they all made it through this encounter alive, he wouldn't allow himself to lose contact with Sherlock again.

Once they arrived at the inn they all exited the car, moving quickly and quietly to the room that Sherlock and John had bought for the duration of their stay. The door was slightly ajar when they arrived, raising a red flag in Sam's mind immediately. He pushed through the door slowly, wishing that he had some kind of weapon to protect himself and his friends, but when he entered, he wasn't met with any kind of threat at all. He moved past the small kitchen and to the area where the bed sat to see Molly and Dean gagged and bound lying together. He made no sudden movements, keeping himself from doing something that might get him injured or give the shifter the upper hand.

“Where's the monster?” John asked, cautiously looking around the small room. It seemed that the shifter had left, there was no evidence of it ever having been in the room at all.

“Sherlock, go help them.” Sam said as he made his way to the bathroom to make sure the shifter wasn't hiding there. Once he'd made sure that the room was clear, he made his way back to the others. “The room is completely clean. Not even any evidence of the shifter having changed its appearance.”

“Sam, it's coming back. It didn't expect you to get here so soon, it left but didn't tell us what it was doing. Maybe if you can hide and catch it off guard.” Molly said as she rubbed her wrists after being freed from her binds.

“One thing's for sure, it's not playing around.” Dean said, pushing himself off of the bed to pace around the room.

“What does it want?” John asked, letting himself fall into one of the chairs in the room. The whole idea of supernatural beings actually existing was new for him, and he was feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all.

“It wants to keep hunting here, and that means getting rid of us,” Molly started, looking toward Sam and then to Dean, then looking directly at Sherlock. “and making sure that you don't give it any more trouble. It wants to kill us all and leave you to live the rest of your life alone, Sherlock.”

“I see.” Sherlock answered, looking away from Molly and to the ground. “I suppose that means all of you should leave, then.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, a confused expression on his face. “We're not gonna just...just leave you here to deal with this by yourself. The whole reason you wanted us here was to help.”

“I don't want any of you getting injured because of me. It seems I'm already too late to prevent that, judging by the shape Molly is in, but I can keep any more harm from coming to any of you if you all leave now.” Sherlock replied, gaining strange looks from everyone in the room.

“What makes you think it will stop if we leave now?” Dean started, striding over to Sherlock and getting right in his face. “If we leave and you tell it that we left, it'll just tell all its friends to look for us. It won't stop until we gank it, or it ganks us. Which one are you gunning for?”

“Molly is in no shape to fight, and we have no weapons. How are we supposed to kill it?”

“There has to be something silver in here somewhere.” Sam said, beginning to look around the room frantically. The shifter could be back any minute, and they had to be prepared when it got there.

“Wait, silver, you said?” John asked, moving from his chair to dig through a bag that he'd brought with him for the trip. When he turned to face them again, he was holding a long, silver knife, as if he were looking for approval.

“That's silver? _Real_ silver?” Dean asked, striding toward John to examine the knife more closely.

“It's coated in silver, gives it a better shine.” John answered, taking the knife carefully by the blade and extending it to Dean. The eldest Winchester took the knife, then looked at his brother.

“What do you think?” He asked, turning the knife in his hands.

“I think it's worth a shot. If nothing else it will slow the shifter down a little. Even a small amount of silver forced into its body should hurt a lot.” Sam answered, looking a bit worried. This blade would be their only chance, though, and it was one that they had to take. Dean was right about what he'd said. If they let the shifter get away, it would send others after them, and that was the last thing they needed. Sam hadn't had any more visions since they'd been here, but just knowing that they could hit at any time worried him, and Molly as well. She worried about him so much before they started, but now it was like she was constantly afraid. They couldn't afford any kind of distraction with something so new and potentially dangerous on the horizon, and that was exactly what this shifter would be if they didn't get rid of it now.

“So what's the plan?” Molly asked from her place on the bed. She wished that she could move, that she could do anything at all to help the situation, but yet again she was the one that was in need of saving. She hated herself for being the damsel in distress, but Sam and Dean always came through for her in the end, just like they were going to do today.

“Sam, Sherlock, and John, you three go out and hide somewhere. When you know the shifter is back here, you can come in as back up, but I think I'll have it pretty well under control. I'll take the knife, wait for the slimy son of a bitch to get close enough, and do the deed before it even knows what's coming. The stab should be good enough, but Sam, you come in with the machete after he goes down and finish the job. I haven't seen anything come back from a beheading yet.” Dean explained. He'd always been good at working out plans. He'd seemed like the leader of the duo when Molly and Sherlock met them, but Molly knew now that he wasn't so much trying to be a leader as he was just trying to protect Sam at all costs. Now that Molly was in the picture as well, regarded as family, he treated her exactly the same way. Nothing and no one would ever get away with hurting his little brother and sister, as he'd taken to calling Molly when no one else was around.

“Sounds like a good enough plan to me.” Sam said, then strode over to Molly. “I'll see you soon.” He said, then bent down to press a gentle kiss to Molly's lips. He almost felt bad for doing so in front of Sherlock, but it had always been their ritual. When they had to be separated for a case, they always went through the same thing. It was always 'see you soon' never 'goodbye', just a way to reassure each other that they would make it out of the plan alive. Molly had never felt like a case had such potential to go wrong before this one, though. She was already so hurt, it wouldn't take much to finish her off. The amount of blood that she'd lost was taking its toll on her, and she wondered if she would even be able to stay conscious for the whole endeavor.

“I'll see you soon, Sam.” She said with a smile, trying to push her thoughts away, to hide them from her husband, but somehow he always knew.

“Sam, tie us back up and get out of here before it gets back. This has to look convincing if we're gonna pull it off.” Dean said, and Sam dug two zip ties out of a bag and bound them again. Dean sat back on the bed where Molly had been the whole time and let his brother restrain him again, tightening the zip ties loosely enough so that he could break free when he wanted. Once they were tied up again, Sam added the final touch, replacing the gags that had been in place when he walked in. Dean nodded at his brother before Sam ducked out of the room, Sherlock and John following closely behind.

 

oOo

 

Once Molly was bound and gagged again, it seemed like an eternity before the shifter finally came back into the room. She found herself in a jumble of nervous feelings, most of them for Sam and Sherlock. She knew they were probably just fine, but in the back of her mind she kept thinking of the worst things that could happen to them. The shifter could have found them before they got away, they could be dead for all she knew. This was the part of the job that she hated. Waiting, making herself bait for a monster that wanted to kill her. She loved making the world a better place by getting rid of all the evil, but sometimes she wondered if her life would have been better if she would have stayed in England.

“I hope the two of you have been comfortable while I've been away.” The shifter said as he strode toward the bed, still wearing Sherlock's appearance. “I'm surprised that the cavalry hasn't arrived yet. Does Sam Winchester care that little about his brother and wife?”

The shifter smiled and looked between Molly and Dean, receiving glares that threatened to pierce through his heart. If looks could kill, Molly and Dean wouldn't have nearly as big of a problem as they actually did at the moment. Dean wanted so badly to speak, but it was out of the question with the gag still in his mouth. The shifter was so arrogant, so sure that he was going to win, and that made Dean more determined than ever to take him out. He only wondered where the other three members of their little group were. The shifter took another step toward them, putting himself closer and closer to the range that Dean would need to plunge the knife into his heart.

“Looks like we'll just have to get on with it then.” The shifter said as he turned Sherlock's face into the most twisted smirking expression Molly had ever seen. She hoped she would never have to see Sherlock like that again. First the demon had made him do things he would never have done on his own, and now this shape shifter was slandering his image and reputation even more. He walked over to her, kneeling on the bed in front of her and taking a long, slender blade from a sheath that hung by his side.

“Usually I don't like to use weapons like this, but it just seemed more appropriate for this job.” He said, then pulled Molly up to a sitting position as she struggled against him. He was just about to slide the knife into her chest when Dean broke free of his binds and lunged toward him, tackling him off of the bed and to the ground, his knife poised and ready to strike. At that moment, Sam burst in the door to see what had been happening. John followed behind him, gun drawn, although he had to know that regular bullets wouldn't work on the shifter.

The shifter got the upper hand on Dean, knocking the knife out of his hand and pinning him to the floor. Sam saw the struggle and ran to help his brother, pulling the monster off and shoving him safely away from Molly. The shifter quickly lunged back at Sam, knocking him to the ground and straddling his waist, his fists making sickening slapping sounds as they made contact with Sam's face. John fired a bullet, catching the shifter in his right shoulder, and stopping him from continuing to abuse Sam. He climbed off of Molly's unconscious husband and made his way toward John, who was now standing, eyes wide, staring at the approaching threat. Dean was still struggling to regain his footing when Sherlock came into the room carrying what looked like a bottle of alcohol. He quickly uncapped the bottle and tossed the liquid at the shifter, who stumbled back with an expression of pain on his face. Dean caught him, pulling the shifter's hands behind his back and restraining him as Sherlock continued into the room.

“What is that?” Molly asked from the bed.

“A little something I found down stairs in the pub. Apparently someone makes vodka that contains silver leaf. Silver Symphony vodka, it's called. When we were discussing the plan earlier, I decided to look for anything else in the building that might contain silver. Turns out, this did the job. Do you think it will kill him if we pour it down his throat?” Sherlock asked as he stared at his doppelganger with a smile even more sinister than Molly had seen on the shifter's lips moments ago.

“It's worth a shot.” Dean answered, tightening his grip on the struggling shifter. “He did try to kill us all.”

Molly had also never heard screams of horror so terrible in the two years that she'd been traveling with Sam and Dean. Screams paired with the gurgling sounds of drowning struggled from the shifter's throat as the alcohol forced its way down.

“Sherlock...” John said from the far corner of the room, a concerned expression on his face as Sherlock drained the last of the contents of the bottle. He turned to look at John as Dean let the shifter's body fall to the floor, and Dean picked up the machete Sam had dropped earlier to detach the imitation Sherlock's head from his shoulders. Molly wanted to rush to Sam, who was still unconscious on the floor, but knew she wouldn't make it too far if she tried to leave the bed.

“A bit not good?” Sherlock asked, dropping the empty bottle to his feet and walking over to sit on the end of the bed with Molly.

“I think more than a bit, this time. Pretty sure you've just committed murder.”

“Stick with us and you'll get used to it.” Dean said as he shoved the shifter's head into a bag to be disposed of later. John quickly walked over to examine Sam.

“So this is what you did in America?” He asked as he pressed two fingers to the youngest Winchester's neck to check his pulse, then quickly added “he's still breathing” to the end of his sentence.

“Not exactly. I've never seen a creature like the one we just disposed of, but I'd have to assume what I had the displeasure of becoming is much worse. At least the people shape shifter's wear don't have to continue living trapped in their own mind.” Sherlock said, feeling as if he owed John a bit of an explanation. He knew how ridiculous it felt when he was faced with accepting the reality of monsters, and he knew John would have just as hard of a time with it.

“Exactly how many types of...supernatural creatures are there?” John asked, concerned, then made his way over to examine Molly's wounds.

“Wish I could tell you, buddy.” Dean said with a sarcastic smile.

“Dean stitched me up, I should be fine after I rest for a while.” Molly said as John prodded at the amateur stitching job Dean had done earlier.

“Let's all go back to Baker Street, it may not be safe here, who knows how many more shape shifters could be lurking on the moores.” Sherlock suggested, and no one hesitated. It would be nice to stay in an actual residence, instead of a motel as Sam, Dean, and Molly usually did. Not to mention that Molly wanted to spend more time with John and Sherlock before she had to leave to go back to America. It had been so nice seeing them again, regardless of the situation. “John can give everyone proper medical attention there.”

“That sounds lovely, Sherlock, thank you.” She said with a small smile as she looked at the man sitting beside her, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of a smile on his lips as well, but this time it wasn't the sinister kind.

“John and I will gather everyone's things and we'll leave as soon as Sam wakes up.”

“Good, I could use a little R&R before heading back to the states to keep up the good fight.” Dean chimed in with a smile as Sherlock and John gathered a few bags and carried them out the door.

 


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken a little extra effort from Molly's favorite men, but they had finally arrived back at Baker Street. She hadn't been able to get around very well by herself since she'd been attacked by the shape shifter at Baskerville, but Dean practically carried her up the two flights of stairs that needed to be climbed to get to Sherlock's flat. Sam was doing fine, only sporting a black eye and busted lip, nothing he hadn't endure before, but Molly hated seeing him in that condition regardless. Sherlock and John carried the several bags full of clothes and weapons (and one containing a head) into the flat and left them on the floor when they got in, closing the door behind them. Dean sat Molly down beside Sam and went to retrieve a chair from the kitchen.

“Welcome to 221 B, Baker Street.” Sherlock said as he dug the head out of the bag and placed it in the refrigerator. Sam and Dean had wanted to burn it, but Sherlock had found it hard to come by test specimens with Molly no longer holding her position at Bart's.

“Thanks for having us. Molly told us before that you don't really like having company.” Sam said as he sat on the sofa against a wall that had a yellow smiley face painted on it.

“I can make exceptions for friends.”

“I thought you didn't have friends.” John said, clearly still a bit upset about what Sherlock had said before.

“John, when I said that I only meant that I only had one friend, because that's what I thought at the time. However, I've come to realize that I may be fortunate enough to have four.” Sherlock turned to face the Winchesters. “The things that the three of you do for each other, and what you did to make sure the threat was taken care of...the things you've done for me personally...I believe they all add up to friendship. I would have sacrificed myself for any one of you, and I'm sure you all would have done the same. I know now that I was wrong to think that I don't have friends, and that was only because I'm not sure how I managed to gain any friends at all. So thank you, all of you. You're welcome here at Baker Street any time.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. I wish we could stay longer than tonight. I would have loved to catch up on everything that's been happening here. I miss the two of you.” Molly said with a small smile in Sherlock and John's direction. Of course, Sherlock didn't quite know how to handle her affection so John had to pick up the slack.

“We miss you very much too, Molly.” He replied, walking over to give her a short hug before going to the kitchen to make tea. Molly had forgotten just how much she missed the tea in England while she was away in America. Try as she might, she could never find anything that was even close to being on par with what she could find at home, the tea in America always tasted like paper, and she savored every tiny sip that she took, trying to make it last.

“So, what's next for the Winchester's?” John asked from his arm chair. Sherlock had also retreated to his gray leather arm chair and was casually sipping his tea, taking in the conversation.

“We never really know until we catch wind of something in the newspapers or on TV.” Sam replied, putting his tea cup down on the coffee table that sat in front of the sofa. “We kind of just drift around until we find something, most of the time.”

“I suppose the three of you couldn't be convinced to stay here, then?” Sherlock asked, never looking at the three people he was talking to.

“Sherlock, you know I would love to stay here, but there are some things back in America that we still need to work on. We dropped everything so that we could come and help you with this case.” Molly said in a soft tone, knowing that it would hurt Sherlock to hear her answer, even though he wouldn't show it.

“There are people back home that still need out help, and we're just about the only people that _can_ help them.” Dean said, trying to explain what Molly had said further.

“Of course, I wouldn't presume to take you away from your work. I know how important that is.” Sherlock replied, and they knew he did understand. If someone tried to take Sherlock Holmes away from his work, he would throw a temper tantrum that would rival any child, surely he must know that Sam and Dean couldn't just abandon everything they had been doing. Besides, they still needed to find their father, they knew he was still out there somewhere. John Winchester couldn't be beaten easily, even if he was being faced with demons, and Sam was adamant that he introduce his father to Molly.

“I would love for the two of you to come and visit us in America some time, though. I know we don't really have a solid living situation there, but spending more time with the two of you would be wonderful. You could even help us with a few cases while you're in, if you like.” Molly smiled, half expecting to be rejected, but she was surprised when John and Sherlock exchanged a look.

“Yes, I think we would like that.” Sherlock answered, turning his attention back to Molly.

“I wasn't so sure about all this at first, but I know why you do it. You have to help as many people as you can. I suppose that's why I joined the army, to help people. The only difference here is the things that you fight don't have guns, they just have...supernatural...powers.” John stopped and screwed up his face for a moment, then got back on track. “You know I can't stay out of the action for too long, Molly. Of course, we'll visit you some day.”

Molly smiled at the answer, but she was still struggling internally with the problems they faced back home. Mainly finding her father-in-law. In truth, finding John Winchester wasn't Molly's main priority. Ever since Sam's first vision, she'd been worried. Whatever was going on, it was nothing good. Sam kept trying to tell her it was fine, that whatever it was would go away, and he hadn't even bothered to tell Dean much about it at all. But Molly knew that the visions had to have something to do with Azazel. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she just had a feeling deep down, and she didn't like it.

“Sam, Dean, would you like to see the rest of London? So far you've only seen Baker Street, that's hardly the best part.” John said, pushing himself to his feet and taking his tea cup back to the kitchen.

“I beg to differ.” Sherlock protested with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, I could go for some grub, and Molly's always talking about fish and chips. Might not be my regular thing, but I'm willing to try anything battered and deep fried.” Dean chimed in, getting up and putting his chair back in its rightful place.

“i could go for some sight seeing after that job.” Sam said, and looked to Molly.

“You two go ahead with John, I'm still feeling a bit weak. Bring some fish and chips back for me?” She asked, and pressed a tender kiss to Sam's cheek.

“Sure thing.” He answered, then joined Dean and John by the door.

“Want anything, Sherlock?” John asked before he headed down the stairs with the Winchester boys.

“No, I've got everything I need right here.” Sherlock replied. John nodded and followed Sam and Dean down the stairs, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone in 221 B. They sat in silence for a moment while Molly mulled over what she wanted to say. It wasn't that she couldn't talk to Sherlock while Sam was around, but she knew that what she wanted to talk about was something that he wasn't too keen on sharing.

“Sherlock, can I talk to you about Sam?” She asked when she was sure her husband was gone.

“Of course, Molly. You can talk to me about anything you wish.” Sherlock replied, picking up the bow to his violin and examining it.

“I'm worried about him. Strange things have been happening lately, strange even by the Winchester's standards. He's been having...visions.”

“What types of visions?” Sherlock asked, his interest piqued.

“He sees people die. Sometimes the events leading up to their deaths, sometimes just the death itself. Sometimes he gets more details, but not often. And they're always painful, I can tell. I'm afraid that something bad is happening.”

“Have you taken him to hospital?”

“And tell them what? This isn't exactly the type of thing that a trip to a hospital can normally help with.”

“I suppose you're right about that.” Sherlock said, picking up his violin and walking to the window behind his chair. “You believe this has something to do with the demon that possessed me, yes?” He asked, dragging the bow across the strings softly.

“Sam doesn't think so. He just wants to brush it off, like nothing is happening.” Molly paused, wringing her hands, then looked up at Sherlock. “I'm afraid that something really bad is coming.”

“I hope you know that if a problem arises of which you believe I can be of assistance, you need not hesitate to call.”

“I appreciate the offer, Sherlock, I really do, but you know the kinds of things we deal with. I would feel bad pulling you into it all.” Molly said in a genuine tone.

“Molly, I owe you a favor now. You came all the way back here because I called you and asked you to come. I hope you know I would do the same for you, and your family.”

“I just don't want you to get pulled into the kind of life we have. That's all.”

“Tell me, Molly, do you really think the kind of life I have is that much different than the one you lead? We both chase after the bad and try to rid the world of it, no matter the consequences, because it's the right thing to do. Both of our jobs are dangerous. Both of our jobs require sacrifice. It doesn't sound that much different to me.” Sherlock said, placing his violin and bow back in the case and crossing the room to the sofa Molly was sitting on in four long strides.

“Except usually when you make a sacrifice it isn't your soul. I've already caused that to happen, I don't want any more bad happening to you.” Molly argued, knowing that bringing up the fact that Sherlock had sold his soul to bring her back from the dead may not be the best option, but she had to get her point across.

“I want to help you because you, along with Sam and Dean, are my friends. I've realized that friends protect each other at any cost, and that's what I intend to do. If anything at all happens to Sam when you return home, you must call me immediately, Molly.”

“Fine.” Molly said reluctantly.

“Tell me more about the visions.” Sherlock said, sitting by Molly on the sofa, turning his full attention to her.

“They normally happen when he's asleep. He has very vivid dreams. He recently told me that he was having dreams about his previous girlfriend's death months before it happened. All the details were exactly the same. He's had a few visions about our cases, and they've resulted in saving innocent lives, but I'm worried that things are going to get worse.”

“Are there adverse side effects?”

“He always gets horrible migraines during and keeps them for a while after the visions. I can tell he's in horrible pain, but he won't admit it. He doesn't want me to worry.”

“It seems he's failed on that front.” Sherlock said blatantly. “Whatever this is, it doesn't sound like a good thing. Keep an eye on him, and please let John and me know if we can help in any way.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.” Molly said with a smile, then placed a hand on his. “I really do miss you, you know. Life hasn't quite been the same without you begging me for severed limbs off of corpses.”

“Well, everyone knows that the new pathologist at Bart's doesn't pacify my need for specimens.” Sherlock said curtly, then grasped Molly's hand for a moment. “I've missed you as well, and those Winchesters. I never thought I would hear myself say those words.”

“You and Sam get on well. I think you have a lot in common.”

“Sam is an intelligent man, and he takes care of you, so there's no reason we shouldn't get on.”

“How about the fact that men competing for women's affection don't usually like each other.”

“There was no competition, Molly. I knew the moment we met Sam and Dean that you were lost to me, not that I tried that hard in the past to try and win you over. It's funny the things you take for granted when you think they can not be taken away from you.”

“Sherlock...” Molly started, tightening her grip on his hand. “I never meant...”

“I know, Molly. Please don't fret about it. I can't say that I don't regret missing my chance, but I respect your decision. You couldn't have ended up with a better man. Sam takes care of you, and he doesn't hurt you, and that's more than I can say for myself.” Sherlock explained, looked a bit guilty. With one last squeeze of Molly's hand, he got up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen before Molly's mobile began to buzz by her side. She recognized Dean's number and picked up immediately.

“Dean, are you enjoying London?” She asked when she picked up the phone.

“Molly,” Dean's voice sounded rough, and taxed, and she knew immediately that something was wrong. “It's Sammy, something's wrong with him. John and me are taking him to the hospital. I think he said it's called Bart's.”

“We'll be there soon.” Molly said, knowing exactly what was wrong with Sam without Dean having said a word about what was happening. She ended the call and pushed herself off of the sofa, still in pain from being attacked, but fueled by adrenaline.

“Sherlock, we need to go. They're taking Sam to Bart's.” She said, moving to the kitchen where Sherlock was staring at the head he'd put in the fridge.

“It happened again, didn't it?” He asked, closing the door and turning to face her. She only nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Let's go then.”

 

oOo

 

Sam had fought them the whole way to Bart's despite being in obviously excruciating pain. They'd been enjoying their fish and chips when Sam doubled over, hands on his temples, and dropped the dinner that he'd been so excited for just moments before. Dean immediately went into a panic, not knowing how to help his little brother wasn't something he liked to admit, but that was exactly the case now. John had offered to help, but Dean still didn't trust him with his brother's life. The next best thing was Bart's.

“Dean, I'm fine. Let's just go back to Baker Street.” Sam pleaded, his eyes still squinted from the pain of his vision. In truth, he didn't want to waste any more time getting back home, after what he'd seen.

“Sammy, that's bullshit. We're taking you to the hospital. Something's not right.” Dean argued as he dragged his brother into a cab, and John followed behind.

“Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, please.” He told the cab driver over the arguing Winchesters.

“I just want to go home, Dean. Let's just go back and find a flight.” Sam protested again.

“I already called Molly and Sherlock, they're on their way there.” Dean answered, ignoring his brother's request.

“Dean, they can't help me!” Sam said raising his voice a little and alerting the cab driver to the problem in the back seat..

“You don't know that.” Dean said, staring out the window.

“I do know. Do you think that something like this, happening to one of us, is going to be a normal problem?”

“Sam, you're going to the hospital!” Dean said firmly, refusing to argue.

“Dean, I haven't been telling you everything.” He said, knowing that Dean would be angry at those words. “Ever since before you came to get me from school I've been having these...dreams, really horrible dreams. At first I didn't think it was anything, but when they started coming true I...I didn't know what to do.”

“You mean you've been having premonitions...? Like, seeing the future? You're a psychic now? When were you gonna tell me about this, Sam?” Dean said, the anger rising within him.

“I didn't want you to worry. Molly was already doing enough of that for the both of you. I've been trying to just..figure it out myself, but I haven't gotten very far.”

“When did it start?”

“Two months before you came to get me. It happened while we were on the first case we did together, I just didn't tell you. It was always the same dream.”

“What was the dream?”

“I kept seeing myself lying in bed. I felt something drip on my forehead, it was blood. I look up and Jessica is...pinned to the ceiling...blood spreading across her stomach...then she bursts into flames.” Sam said with a bit of difficulty. The look he saw on his brother's face after revealing the dream was something he hoped he would never see again. The cab stopped in front of Bart's and Dean climbed out quickly, followed by Sam and John. He turned to face his brother, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Sammy, you just described the exact way that Mom died.” He said in a low voice, pain evident in his features. “I think it's safe to say this isn't something normal. What else have you seen?”

“Remember that case we worked back in Tulsa? When I just...miraculously knew where to go to save that girl. I watched her die before it was actually supposed to happen, gathered some clues from what I saw, and somehow managed to be in the right place at the right time to save her life.”

“I knew there was something fishy about that. Sam, you've gotta tell me about this kind of thing!” Dean said, forgetting the sadness he'd felt at hearing his mother's death described to him and switching back to anger at the betrayal he felt from Sam.

“I'm sorry, Dean, I just didn't want you to worry. I wanted to take care of this by myself. You're always treating me like...like a child, and I'm tired of it. I need to fight my own battles, Dean.”

“This might not be a battle you can fight by yourself, Sam, no matter what you think.” Dean argued, raising his voice and alerting Molly and Sherlock, who had just arrived in a cab, to the conflict that was taking place. Molly rushed over to Sam's side, noting the anger on Dean's face when she arrived.

“Sam, are you okay?” She asked, placing a hand on her husband's face and brushing over his cheek lightly with her thumb. Usually he had a fever after his visions, but he'd begun to cool down now.

“I'm fine.” He said, although Molly could tell he was still recovering.

“Why don't you tell your wife what you just told me.” Dean said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. John moved over to stand with Sherlock, feeling uncomfortable at witnessing the family trouble.

“I already know, Dean.” Molly answered, knowing that she would receive some backlash as well.

“You both kept this a secret from me?” Dean asked, his jaw clenching with anger.

“I made her promise, Dean, it's not her fault.” Sam said, looking over Molly's head to make eye contact with his brother. “This is my fault, don't take it out on her.”

“Let's just go back to Baker Street, it seems like there are a lot of things that need taking care of back home.” Dean said, steeling himself to the emotions whirling around in his head and catching the cab Molly and Sherlock had arrived in before it pulled away. They all climbed in, and the ride back to Baker Street was dead silent.

 

oOo

 

When they arrived back at Sherlock's flat, the silence continued. Dean wouldn't say a word to anyone and Sam and Molly were left feeling helpless, trying to think of ways to right what they'd done. Sam never liked lying to his brother, but he didn't see how what he'd done was the same. He hadn't lied, he'd just withheld the truth, and for Dean's wellbeing. Maybe he shouldn't have drug Molly into it, but it was hard when he woke up in the middle of the night practically screaming from visions of people's deaths. He didn't see any other way to do it.

“Can I, um...can I get anyone some tea?” John asked, trying to break the silence that was growing increasingly uncomfortable as the Winchesters stewed in their suppressed feelings.

“Thanks, but no thanks, we've gotta hit the road. We have some issues to work out state side, can't keep it waiting.” Dean said in a short tone, still rushing around the sitting room to try and gather all his things.

“At least stay the night. I know you're all exhausted from the case we just finished, I know I am. Let's just take a night to relax and you can leave first thing in the morning.” Sherlock urged, but that only earned him a glare from Dean.

“I said we have to leave. It's been real nice catching up, and it was nice to meet you John, but we've got work to do. You're not going to convince me to stay, so stop trying.”

“Dean, if you would just listen for a second...” Sam started, but Dean reeled his anger back on his brother.

“No, you don't get to say anything else. We have to find a way to fix you, Sam, and the answer ain't gonna be here. We need to go see Bobby.”

“I'll call Mycroft, I'm sure he can get you back home quickly.” Sherlock chimed in again, removing his mobile from his pocket.

 

By the time they reached the airport where Mycroft was waiting to send the Winchesters on their way, the silence had grown to be too much.

“Sam, Dean, this is enough.” Molly said in her 'mother voice' as Dean had taken to calling it. “You two need to stop fighting, because we all know where that gets us. Sherlock has been gracious enough to get us a ride back home, and on that ride, we're going to _talk_ about what's happened and what we might be able to do to fix it. And if I hear one word of complaint from either of you, you won't like what will happen.”

“I thought you were Sam's wife, not our mother.” Dean said in a sour tone, which earned him a glare so intense from Molly that he immediately dropped his attitude. They exited the large, black SUV that Mycroft had sent to pick them up and saw a small private plane sitting on the runway. Mycroft stood beside the stairs that lead into the plane, leaning on his black umbrella and waiting for the others to join him. Sherlock was the first to walk over, giving his brother a look of exasperation after enduring the stress of the drive over.

“Brother mine,” Mycroft said in acknowledgment of Sherlock. “I presume these are the famed Winchesters that I've heard so much about? And Molly Hooper, so nice to see you again.”

“There are no Hoopers here anymore, Mycroft, only Winchesters.” Sherlock replied before Molly could say anything.

“Ah, well congratulations on your nuptials, Molly.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.” Molly answered, walking in front of Sam and Dean and stopping in front of the Holmes brothers. John brought up the rear and went to stand in between the two parties.

“This must be the asshole brother I've heard so much about.” Dean said, radiating his anger on to other matters.

“That must make you Dean Winchester.” Mycroft said flippantly. “I would say it's a pleasure, but seeing as you've just insulted me upon meeting, I'll have to pass.”

“Thank you for helping us, Mycroft, and excuse Dean he's kind of...angry.” Sam said, trying to be polite.

“I assure you, Sam, it isn't a problem. Besides, I owed my brother a favor and he happened to cash it in on this. I'm happy to help Miss Hoop....Mrs. Winchester with whatever she may need. Please have a safe journey home.” Mycroft said before taking his leave, climbing into a black jaguar and heading off of the runway. Dean didn't have any need for goodbyes. He climbed into the plane without another word to anyone and waited for Sam and Molly to join him.

“Thank you for all your help.” Sherlock said when Dean was gone. “We wouldn't have been able to stop that shape shifter if it weren't for the three of you. Please make sure Dean knows how grateful we are when he's done being angry.”

“It's not a problem, man.” Sam said with a small smile. “If you ever need us again, just give us a call. John, it was nice to meet you finally. I hope it's not too long before we see each other again.”

“Likewise.” John said, extending his hand to Sam for a hand shake.

“Call me any time, Sherlock. Even if you just want to talk. I'll always answer.” Molly said, moving in to hug Sherlock. He accepted her embrace willingly, taking a deep breath before releasing her.

“We will miss you, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said before he even realized he'd used the wrong name. Molly didn't care, though. If anything her full name had become more like a pet name for Sherlock. He only really called her that when he was trying to get it across to her that he really cared.

“We'll miss you too, Sherlock.” Molly said, pulling away and giving a small smile. “We've got to stop doing this whole airport goodbye thing.”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, clasping his hands behind his back.

“It's not goodbye, Molly. It's see you later.” Sam chimed in, using the same ritual that they always used when they went into a case separately.

“You're right.” Molly said before moving over to give John a hug. “We'll see you both later.”

Molly and Sam climbed on to the plane with Dean, who was stewing in the back corner, and sat near the front where they could see John and Sherlock out the window. They waved one last time at their friends, knowing that this wouldn't be the last time they would have to work together. Molly had the feeling that the working relationship between the Winchesters and the consulting detective and his blogger would continue for a very long time.

“Sam, what did you see?” Molly asked, her curiosity over Sam's vision getting the best of her. Sam took a deep breath and looked at her, struggling with the emotions that the memory of his vision brought back.

“I saw Dad's death.”

 


End file.
